Black Velvet
by csishewolf
Summary: Sara finds herself a new hobby, and Grissom does not approve. This is in response to the Improv Challenges on the YTDAW board. [GSR] FINISHED.
1. June 23rd 2005

**Disclaimer:** Although I'm watching them on TV right now, they aren't mine. Oops, I shut the TV off. Now they really aren't mine.

**Rating: **For now, T/PG-13.

**Spoilers:**Assume the timeframe to be late Season 4 or early Season 5. There is no Spork and no split.

**Beta Props:** Again, Cybrokat is a beta goddess and my BFF Jennie continues to read these wacky things and provide unending support and encouragement. I am so lucky to have them both. sniffle

**A/N: **The following is romantic and angsty GSR fluff. It is not Warrick/Sara – although I am building a lot on their friendship dynamic. This is just something fun I wanted to do with the lines they keep posting in the YTDAW Improv Challenge thread. I've had this storyline in my head for a while, but haven't had the time to get it written. Don't expect it to be anything spectacular.

First and last lines were provided, and are italicized. Because I like to do that kind of thing. Microsoft Word says that this has 1,715 words, so I made the limit, if not the timeframe.

_

* * *

The smoke drifted upward slowly._ Sara stared at the half-finished cigarette resting in the battered black plastic ashtray. Warrick was sitting next to her, tapping his fingers nervously against the black lacquered tabletop. The air was stale, the lighting dim at best, and the padded seat of the red velvet dining chair was thin and uncomfortable. A portrait of Elvis was scowling at her from the far wall behind the man sitting in front of them. 

Two fingers resembling burnt pork sausages lifted the cigarette from its resting place, and raised it to a pair of chapped, puffy lips. After taking a long drag, complete with the after-exhale cough of emphysema-filled lungs, the lips, or rather, the man attached to them, spoke.

"You were good. More specifically, _you_," he said, pointing a pork sausage finger at Sara, "were good. Brown, you were okay."

Warrick seemed to wince a little at this, and Sara was stunned. Never, in a million years, did she expect to receive a compliment for what she'd just done. Well, she and Warrick.

The owner of _The Black Velvet Lounge _continued. "The $500 is yours. You won it hands down. As for the slot on Thursday nights, it's also yours, if you want it. Pay is $200 a piece plus 25 percent of the cover. The more you bring in, the more you make. Got it?"

Sara looked at Warrick hesitantly. They'd both need to have Thursday nights off in order to do this. There was no way Grissom was going to agree to that. Warrick read the uncertainty in her eyes. "I'll handle it … well, him, if you want to do this."

Sara threw the ball back in his court. "Do you want to do this?"

"Yeah, I do. And dammit, we're good. And it's something away from all… of that, you know?"

Sara recalled Grissom's recommendation of finding something outside of work to relieve the stress of the job. This definitely qualified. She gave a nonchalant shrug and smiled at Warrick. "Eh… what the hell? Why not?"

The rotund black man beamed, recognizing a cash cow when he saw one. "Excellent. Then it's set. I'll see you here 8 p.m. sharp next Thursday. And missy…"

"Sara. My name is Sara."

"Okay… Sara. You're beautiful, babe. Wear something to flaunt what you've got, all right? Don't show up in _that_ again."

Sara blushed crimson, and Warrick smiled softly at her before turning his attention back to their new boss, Samuel Clemson. "Thank you very much for this opportunity, Mr. Clemson."

"No, thank you Brown," he replied, "for bringing this lovely lady and her voice into my club."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next night, Sara was a nervous wreck. After assignments, she snagged Warrick's arm as he was walking down the hallway, and dragged him with her to the locker room. After closing the door, and checking to make sure they were alone, she spoke. "How are we going to do this?"

"Sara, relax."

"Relax? There is no way Grissom is going to let us both take off the same night. Did you hear the case load tonight? We're swamped! There's no way he's going to approve it."

"Let me handle it."

Sara took a step back. "You have a plan."

"Not exactly. Look, things are busy, right? I'll fill out the paperwork for both of us, and when he's swamped, I'll nag him, and he'll shoo me away. I'll pressure him, and he'll sign it just to get me the hell out of there. Problem solved. If that doesn't work, Catherine can forge his signature, and we'll just tell him he signed them and he doesn't remember."

Sara scowled. "He isn't stupid, you know."

"No, he's brilliant. And like all brilliant people, he gets distracted by details. And you know he hates paperwork."

Sara was torn. Singing last night, with Warrick on the piano… it had been amazing. It was just her, in the spotlight, doing what she loved to do from the day she turned five. And the crowd had loved her back. They'd won open mike night. It was like a whole new door had been opened for her.

Yet her job was her first priority, and putting the needs of the job aside was difficult. She knew Thursday nights were going to be tough with both of them missing. What if it got swamped? Would they have to leave the club? That was a sure-fire way of pissing off Clemson, and a return ticket to listening to the police scanner for entertainment again.

"Okay, handle it your way. And let me know."

Warrick put his hand on her shoulder. "Sara, relax. It's okay, all right?"

"I know. It's… just… well…"

"Look, I know. It's scary, doing something new. Sharing a part of yourself with everyone like that. But, they loved you. You kicked ass, babe."

"I really did, didn't I?"

"Yes. You're good. I heard it when you were in the shower in the locker room, and I asked you to come with me last night because of it. I know talent when I hear it and babe, you've got it."

Sara smiled, tears welling in her eyes. So many compliments, and all in under twenty-four hours… Warrick saw her expression and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into himself, holding her tight while she sobbed softly. "Hey, hey… it's okay."

Sara sniffed, "I'm sorry. I'm not used to this."

He hugged her gently; amazed that she could be so confident at one moment, and so helpless the next. "Hey. I'm here. It'll be all right. C'mon, where's that tough Sara I know? The one that rips those bad guys to shreds?"

She wiped her tears away abruptly with her hand. "You're right. I can handle this. Blame it on hormones or something."

Warrick let her go with a half-chuckle. "Hey, I ain't going there."

Sara smiled in return. "Smart ass." She sighed heavily, regaining her composure. "Let me clean up a bit and I'll meet you at the scene."

He winked at her. "See you there, tough gal."

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The week flew by, and just like Warrick had said, Grissom signed the approval forms, allowing both of them Thursday nights as their night off for the next two months. The paperwork didn't extend beyond that, so they'd have to do it again eight weeks from now. However, they'd bought themselves some time to try out their new hobby.

On Sunday, Sara had gone over to Warrick's apartment to run through some of the songs they'd be singing on their first night. She'd never been to his place before, and although it was small, it fit Warrick's style. Leather sofa and recliner, huge wide-screen TV with all of the 'required' electronic paraphernalia, and minimal furnishings everywhere else. No bath rugs in the bathroom, and although it looked like Warrick had tried to clean, it truly was a single guy's apartment.

The only item that seemed out of place was the one Warrick was sitting at when she arrived. The older upright was propped against the far wall, and Warrick was idly plinking away at the keys when she'd pushed open his door. They'd practiced 15 songs, most of them upbeat, jazzy-styled melodies that they both preferred, but they threw in a couple of ballads as well. And of course, they ended their practice session with the bar's namesake.

Shift was almost over and already Sara's nerves were in high gear. She'd gone shopping after their practice session, and purchased a couple of dresses that she thought were more 'revealing' than the skirt and blouse she'd worn before. However, shopping was not her thing, and she was hesitant to ask for Catherine's help. Cath would surely want to know why Sara needed such sexy clothes, and Sara wasn't about to inform her. For now, she wanted to keep this a secret. She'd pounded that into Warrick as well, threatening bodily harm if he said one word to anyone about what they were up to. Ultimately, she knew she just had to trust him, and although he didn't know as much about her past as Grissom did, she suspected he knew enough instinctively to realize she wasn't ready for her singing to be public knowledge.

She packed up her kit for the evening, and when she opened her locker, she stepped back in surprise. Inside a light plastic garment bag was a gorgeous and incredibly expensive evening gown. It was a deep blue, with a slight shimmer to it. Sara looked around to see Warrick standing in the doorway, a look of happiness and pride on his face.

"Warrick, you shouldn't have," she said, her voice filled with emotion.

He shrugged, speaking softly. "Hey, a pretty dress for a pretty lady. I gotta make you look good if I want to bring home the dough, right?"

Sara laughed softly, taking the dress out of the locker. It was then that she noticed the long slit up the side. It most likely went clear up to her hip.

"Warrick! I can't wear this!"

"Aw, you noticed. Damn. _You ruined my surprise._"

… _continued next chapter -> _


	2. June 30th 2005

**Disclaimer:** CSI is not mine. The lines aren't even mine. Hey, but everything in between them is. I typed all those words. That makes 'em mine. Particularly 'the'. I type that word a lot. So I've decided it's mine.

**Rating, Beta Props, etc.** – See Chapter 1.

**A/N: **Here comes Grissom. This is GSR, remember? First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says 1,990 words.

_

* * *

The cat stared at Grissom with an evil glare._ Grissom glared back at it. "Don't start with me, feline," he spat. "I've had a bad day." 

He'd had quite a few bad days recently. For the past six weeks, Warrick and Sara had Thursday nights off. Together. He didn't remember signing the approval forms for them, but he must have, because they couldn't take off otherwise. Something was up between the two of them.

Bets had been placed on whether the two were an item. Warrick was tight-lipped about what they were doing, but he had reassured Nick that they were friends only. Grissom had lucked out in overhearing that tidbit from Greg, who was present when Nick started pounding Warrick for information. Greg had, of course, felt the need to share said information with Jacqui, and then Bobby in ballistics.

Sara had said nothing. But she was happier. Her smile appeared more quickly now, and her laugh was heard more often in the lab corridors. Something was up.

To make it worse, Grissom suspected that Nick and Greg had just recently found out the big secret. Both had been talking in the kitchen during break the night before; Grissom had heard their attempts at whispering from the hallway. The conversation had ceased when he entered the room.

It was eating Grissom alive. And tonight, while he was short two CSIs, they'd been swamped with cases. Two trick rolls, a B&E, and a mugging in an alleyway near some bar off the strip. Catherine was on the B&E, Nick was on both rolls by himself, and Grissom was up to his ankles in garbage, filth, and the stench of cat urine in the alley, looking for evidence while Brass stood behind him, interviewing their drunken victim.

He heard music coming from the lounge nearby. A melancholy piece, considering the melody. He walked closer to the back door of the lounge, listening while searching for traces of their perp. It was possible that the mugger left through the back door of the lounge, for whatever reasons, and surprised the drunken man and his girlfriend in the alleyway. Or, the couple had left, and the perp was waiting back here in the shadows. Either way, the lounge deserved a second look.

Grissom walked back to the front of the building, snagging Brass in the process. Jim filled him in quickly. "Guy says he and his girlfriend came outside for some 'air'. By the looks of her, they were doing a little more than breathing. Anyways, he claims someone came up behind them from the shadows, and put a gun to her head. He demanded all their money, and jewelry, so they gave it to him. Our guy claims the mugger was wearing a ski mask, and he didn't smell so good. His lady love agrees."

"So," Grissom stated, "we're looking for a guy with a bad case of B.O. in a ski mask."

"Good luck finding him," Brass replied. "You want to check out the bar? Chat with the bartender, maybe? You never know. Maybe ski-mask-wearing smelly guys hang out in this place."

Both Grissom and Brass showed their badge to the bouncer at the door. He immediately went to retrieve the owner, and Grissom found himself in a conversation with what could only be described as a beached walrus trapped in a man's body. A very dark-skinned, smooth-talking beached walrus.

"Samuel Clemson," the walrus said, holding out his paw. "A pleasure to meet you both. Please, do come inside. Something to eat or drink, perhaps? Non-alcoholic of course. No? Your choice."

Clemson led them through the bar, heavily themed in what Grissom considered 'Dark Elvis.' Black and red were prominent colors, and the place was filled with a light haze of smoke. The owner led them to a table off in a corner, away from the stage and the main seating area. The music Grissom had heard earlier had stopped, and he assumed the band must be on their break. That was disappointing, because he would have liked to have heard more. He'd only caught bits and pieces of the lead singer's voice, but she sounded spectacular.

"What brings you to the _Black Velvet_, gentleman?"

"We're here about an incident that occurred outside of your establishment," Grissom replied. "A man and woman were assaulted and their valuables were stolen. They claim a foul-smelling man in a ski mask was their attacker."

Samuel Clemson scowled deeply, looking more like a walrus than ever. "Old Joey McNaulty hangs out in our alley, and believe me; he hasn't had a decent bath in months, maybe years. He's homeless, and for the most part, harmless. My sister is the cook here, and sometimes she'll give him stuff to eat. But really, he's harmless."

Brass spoke up. "The assailant was reported to have pointed a gun at a young lady's head. Any idea if this McNaulty might have gotten one recently?"

More frowning by the walrus. "No, I have no idea. This is truly upsetting for me. I run a clean establishment here, and I was concerned about having him residing in our alley. But my sister assured me he was okay. 'Harmless' was her exact description. I see now my instincts were correct."

"Well," Brass replied, handing Clemson a card, "if you can think of anything else, don't hesitate to call. Is your sister back in the kitchen?"

"No, she's gone home for the night. The kitchen closes at ten."

The lights began dimming and it seemed the band was returning. Grissom focused his attention towards the stage, but Clemson and a side wall were obstructing his view. A deep woman's voice echoed across the room, thanking the crowd for their applause at her return.

"Last set, folks. You know what that means; time to pay homage to the roof over our heads. You ready?" The woman's voice was sultry, and seemed to drip sexuality. Both Grissom and Brass focused on the stage.

Samuel noticed their interest. "That's our newest addition. I call 'em 'Ebony and Ivory' but I don't think they have a name. They're new to the scene and the lady there can sing like there's no tomorrow. You should stay for a while and listen."

The woman was still laughing softly and conversing with the patrons, hyping them up for the show.

"No thank you," Brass said. "We'll be leaving now. Tell your sister we'll be in touch." And with that, Brass rose quickly and seemed very intent on ushering Grissom out of the lounge – via the back door.

"Why are we leaving this way, Jim?"

"I… uh… wanted to check out the kitchen before we left. And really, we should be going."

"In a minute, I want to hear her sing. I heard her before, from outside."

"You did?" Brass seemed shocked, "And… you were okay with that?"

"Um… why wouldn't I be?" Grissom asked sarcastically.

Brass grimaced before saying, "I think you should sit this one out. I don't think she's that good. Time to go, Gil." Brass was practically shoving Grissom towards the kitchen door.

"Jesus, Jim. What is it?"

"All right," Brass sighed. "Go ahead, just don't do anything stupid."

"Jim, what are you talking about? Why would I do anything…?" Grissom's voice trailed off as he got a good view of the stage. There stood Sara, clad in a deep blue gown that revealed most, if not all, of her right leg, including her thigh and hip bone. Behind her was a black baby grand piano, polished to an almost blinding sheen. Grissom could almost make out the brown fluff of hair sitting at the keys. Another young black man Grissom didn't recognize sat behind a trap set, complete with snare and bass drums.

He walked towards the center of the bar, which conveniently faced the center of the stage. As he was walking, Warrick started to play, the young drummer started a deep, rhythmic beat, and Sara started to hum softly. The chatter within the whole room ceased.

She sang, the lyrics flowing out of her like a fine wine.

'_Mississippi in the middle of a dry spell…'_

'_Jimmy Rogers on the Victrola up high…'_

'_Momma's dancing with baby on her shoulder…'_

Grissom gaped. He stared. A trickle of saliva started to creep over his lower lip, so he swallowed. Then he returned to gaping and staring. Sara could sing. Sara was singing. Right there in front of him, in a dress that should be illegal.

'_Black Velvet and that little boy smile…'_

'_Black Velvet with that strong southern style...'_

'_A new religion that'll bring you to your knees…'_

'_Black Velvet, if you please.'_

Brass grabbed Grissom's shoulder tightly. "C'mon, Gil. We've got work to do."

"That's… that's Sara."

"Yes, Gil. I know."

"She's singing."

"I see that."

"No, you hear it," he corrected. "You see Sara in her dress. Do you see that dress? That dress is ridiculous, Jim," Grissom growled through his half-babble. "She shouldn't be wearing that in public."

"What Sara Sidle wears on her nights off is not your concern. Time to go."

Grissom couldn't pry his eyes away from Sara on stage. This was probably a good thing, since three-quarters of the men in the audience were also drooling over her as well, and if he saw them eyeing her the same way he was – he probably wouldn't have been a very happy man. Brass knew this, and was very eager to remove Grissom from harm's way.

"Leaving now, Griss. Time to go. Gotta catch those criminals. Remember them? The bad guys?"

"Okay. But I'm talking to both of them tomorrow night about this."

"No, you're not. What they do on their own time is their business. If they want to dance around in pink bunny suits and play polka on accordions, that's _their_ business. Not yours."

Grissom scowled so fiercely his jaw hurt. "I'm their supervisor. It is my business."

"Only if it affects their work, which it does not. This is their one night off a week, and it is their choice in how they want to spend it. They both do an excellent job for you while they are on the clock. Now let's go."

Grissom followed Brass out the back door after running a halfhearted search for evidence on the kitchen. Brass knew Grissom was done for the evening, so they headed back to the lab. True to character, Grissom retreated to his office and shut the door. He didn't return to the real world until shift was over, and then it was only to drop off his report on the mugging, walk to his car, and drive off with a slight squeal of tires.

Greg was standing next to his own car, chatting with Jacqui when Grissom tore out of the parking lot. Both of them looked at each other in confused surprise. Jacqui spoke first, voicing what was on both of their minds.

_"What was that all about?"_

… _continued next chapter -> _

**

* * *

More Important Disclaimer Info: The lyrics above are obviously to the song 'Black Velvet', for which this fic is titled. I love this song. And it is not mine. Here's who it belongs to: **

'Black Velvet'

Written by: Christopher Ward and Dave Tyson

Performed by: Alannah Myles off her self-titled 1989 debut album

Produced by: Dave Tyson and is copy written (most likely to Atlantic Records).

The snippets of lyrics for this song were taken from Alannah Myles website.


	3. July 7th 2005

**Disclaimer:** Again, CSI is not mine. The lines aren't mine. Everything in between them is. Like the word 'the'. You know what else I use a lot? Ellipses. You know, these things - (…). I've decided I own them now, too. Feel free to use them and 'the' whenever you like. I'm generous like that.

**Rating, Beta Props, etc.** – See Chapter 1.

**A/N: **This one was a little harder. Boy I'm having fun, though. First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says 1,967 words.

_

* * *

Sara frowned as water ran down the wall._ "This is not good," she mumbled. 

Catherine stood beside her, staring at the small river running from the wall to the back door of the house. "Haven't we done this before?"

"Yes," Sara replied, "and it wasn't pretty."

"Let's just hope history isn't repeating itself on this one."

Both women stepped over the river and into the living room, where a distraught woman was snuffling while speaking with O'Reilly.

A uniform directed them up the narrow stairs, and they walked down the hallway to the bathroom. Luckily, this DB was lying on the bathroom floor, and not in the tub. The wife downstairs had found him this way when she returned home from grocery shopping. It appeared he'd been shaving, when someone had come along and whacked him on the head, killing him instantly. The water from one of the two sinks in the vanity had overflowed, running into the heating duct near the far wall.

"Wife did it," Catherine said plaintively. "Without a doubt." She sloshed her way to the sink and pointed toward the doorway. "He saw his attacker, and wasn't alarmed. There are no defensive wounds. How much do you want to bet he was having an affair and she found out, like oh, a couple of hours ago?"

Sara gave a non-committal shrug. "We need a weapon." Both women nodded slightly at each other in agreement, and began to search the bathroom, and master bedroom.

"So," Catherine said with her back turned, rooting through the linen closet, "I heard you and Warrick have a new hobby."

Sara stiffened, but continued her search of the cabinets under the expansive vanity. She'd heard from Brass about his and Grissom's unexpected visit to the _Black Velvet._ The thought of having Grissom hear her made her nauseous and dizzy and furious all at once. And she suspected that word would get around – most likely from Brass. Catherine's knowledge confirmed that for her. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Are you two involved?"

"No."

Catherine closed the linen closet before continuing, her voice neutral. "If you are, it's okay by me. I'm happy for both of you."

"Catherine," Sara replied seriously, "we aren't involved. We're just friends."

"Oh." Catherine left the bathroom through the master bedroom doorway, scanning for any evidence of a person leaving the bathroom. "So," she called, "he plays piano while you sing, right?"

"Yes. On Thursday nights. Although this Thursday might be our last time if we can't get Grissom to approve our nights off together again."

"I can't believe he agreed at all." Catherine had done a quick search of the bedroom, finding nothing of interest. "Bedroom's clean."

Sara frowned a little. "Warrick handled it. I'm not sure how. But I suspect that whatever he did before, it won't work a second time. Aha…!"

Catherine stood behind Sara as she pulled a rather heavy straightening iron out from behind a set of towels. Close inspection showed a rather nice dent in the plastic casing surrounding one of the irons.

"Our weapon," Sara stated.

"Lovely. Let's head down and display this to wifey-poo. Death by flatiron; it's always something with this job."

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Warrick was stressed, and for him, stress was uncommon. Ever since he accepted he had a real addiction to gambling, and had sworn himself off that racket, his life had been simple, uneventful. He worked, he came home. He ate, he slept, and on really dull days, he plinked idly on his grandmother's piano. And there was the occasional outing with Nick or his friend Pete to the local bars, cruising for hotties. It was pretty much routine, and it was boring as hell.

Then he'd heard Sara singing in the shower. Loudly enough to echo through the women's shower area, and into the common locker room. Why she was singing that day was a mystery, but he'd heard her singing softly to herself before, and that day clinched it. Warrick knew Vegas, and he knew music. The flicker of an idea became a flame, and now here they were, performing for a packed house every Thursday, making more money that Warrick thought imaginable. And the one man Warrick respected most was about to take that all away from him.

Warrick stood outside Grissom's doorway, holding the same paperwork he'd had in his hands 8 weeks ago. The 'distract and nag' technique he pulled last time was not going to work again. But he had to try. He kept telling himself it was for Sara's sake, but really, it was for his own. He loved playing. He loved how his 'voice' complemented Sara's. They had talked about original pieces, and his friend Pete, who was now their drummer, had some ideas. Losing this would be a crushing blow to them all. Warrick wasn't about to let that happen.

"Got a minute, boss?" Warrick asked, trying to keep his tone neutral. He'd heard about his unexpected visit to the club from Sara. It was typical of Brass not to speak with him; they'd never gotten along very well. At least Sara was Jim's surrogate daughter, or whatever it was between them. Irregardless, he knew Jim would never let anything bad happen to Sara if he could help it.

Warrick watched as Grissom's eyes went from a mild, milky blue to dark steel. _Wow, he's pissed._

"Yes? May I help you?"

Holy shit. Grissom wasn't even holding back on this. The sarcasm flowed off his words like a raging river.

"Grissom, you know Sara and I are performing on Thursday nights at a local club. You know why I'm here. I need for you to approve for us to have Thursday nights as our night off again."

Grissom lowered his glasses slowly, shooting Warrick one of the most venomous glares he had ever seen on Grissom's face. He pushed them gently back into place and focused his attention back on the paperwork on his desk.

"No. You're dismissed."

"Grissom, don't be like this."

"I said no. You're _dismissed._"

Warrick growled softly to himself. Grissom was a pig-headed old fool, and Warrick _knew_ this was personal with him. Anything that involved Sara was personal with Grissom.

Warrick straightened himself, preparing for battle. "I need a reason. A logical reason why this was acceptable before, but it is unacceptable now."

Again with the glasses-lowering and the glare. "It wasn't acceptable before; you sneaked it by me without my conscious knowledge. Which is commendable, and I'm glad you and she had fun together. But fun-time is over; this lab can't function when it is short two CSIs."

"Grissom, that's bullshit. It functioned just fine and Greg is already close to passing his Level 1 exams."

"Greg isn't ready for the field. And my decision is final. Dismissed." And Grissom waved at him distractedly, like Warrick was a pesky fly buzzing around his oh-so-superior head.

Something in Warrick snapped. Grissom needed to be taken down a peg. "You're making this personal. You can't control her, you know." Warrick suspected that would get a reaction from Grissom. It did. If the anger coming off Grissom was bad before, it was nothing compared to the almost-tangible rage Warrick sensed now. The air in the office was thick with it.

"You are both under my supervision. I can, and will, decide whether or not I need one or both of you on a given evening, based on the caseload at any given time. Having the two of you unavailable is unacceptable."

"Give me a break. There was only one night, _one night_ that the caseload was heavy. And our last set ends around one in the morning. If you needed us, we both could have come in. You just don't want her to have a life beyond this lab, beyond where _you_ can control her." Damn, he was pushing it. Warrick knew it. He'd never been so brazen or disrespectful with Grissom before. But Warrick's newfound love of the stage, of the crowd, of the pride within himself, it overrode his respect for the man in front of him. "This means everything to her. And she deserves to be happy."

Silence hovered in the air. "I suppose you feel you're the best man for that job," Grissom murmured, his voice tense.

"I could be," Warrick said smugly, baiting him. Grissom's feelings rarely showed themselves, and Warrick had already accepted he would have to go to the sheriff for the approval. However, this was a golden opportunity to get a glimpse into the inner-Grissom, and maybe get a clue how he really felt for Sara. The temptation was overwhelming.

Grissom looked stricken. Something was at war within him; Warrick could see the tension lining his face. Grissom looked down as he spoke, his words heavy with resentment and disgust. "Then have her. She's yours. I wish you both well. Go sing. Or play. Or whatever it is you do. Get married and breed and buy a four-bedroom house in the suburbs. Knock yourselves out." And Grissom reached out his hand for the forms.

Warrick was stunned. He just stood there, his mouth slightly agape, speechless.

"The forms?" Grissom asked with no small amount of ire.

Warrick handed them to him, still in mild shock at this unexpected outcome. Grissom signed them quickly, pressing hard against the paper with his pen. He handed them back without a word.

"Thank you," Warrick managed.

Grissom had returned to his paperwork, acting as if Warrick wasn't even in the room. Warrick stood, wanting to tell Grissom that he and Sara were _not_ involved, and that the odds of them 'breeding' were about a zillion to nothing. Warrick smirked to himself, imagining Sara kicking his ass if he'd tried to put the moves on her.

"Glad to have made your day," Grissom replied, noticing the smirk, and mistaking its cause.

"You have," Warrick replied evilly, heading for the door. _That was wrong. I shouldn't toy with him like that._

As Warrick was leaving, he heard Grissom behind him mumble softly, "Take care of her."

Warrick was floored by the echo of utter defeat in Grissom's voice. Guilt flooded him. _God, why'd I have to be such a jerk? I just broke his asinine stubborn old-fool heart. Dammit!_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At the end of the shift, Catherine knocked softly on Grissom's doorway. He was packing up his briefcase, just as he had done every night since he'd started working in this lab. But tonight, it was different. Tonight, it felt like he was packing away all that he had left of his life, of his soul. As he stuffed papers and files and pens into their various pockets, he treated them with care. They were all he had now.

"Bad shift, huh?" she asked softly. She could always read him, even when he tried to hide himself from her.

"Just tired," he said softly.

"Oh boy," she said. "I heard you signed off on their paperwork. So they'll have Thursdays off again."

"I did."

"Why? You know we're short-handed when they're both not here."

"They asked."

"Bullshit. That's not the reason. So why'd you do it?"

"_It's Monday," Grissom said with a shrug._

… _continued next chapter -> _


	4. July 14th 2005

**Disclaimer:** Again, CSI is not mine. The lines aren't mine. Everything in between them is.

**Rating, Beta Props, etc.** – See Chapter 1.

**A/N: **Did I mention this is fun? God, angst is so much fun. And this is so much easier than writing from Grissom's POV all the time. Hope you are having fun. I am. Have I mentioned that?

First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. I blew the 2,000 limit though. Microsoft Word says 2, 356 words. Sorry about that.

_

* * *

"I don't want to know," Brass sighed._

"He signed it for them. Three weeks ago." Catherine said, stirring her coffee slowly, watching the non-dairy creamer attempt to dissolve in the lukewarm liquid.

"I told you, I don't want to know. I don't want to hear about it, or think about it, or do anything about it."

"Jim, he hides in that office. He goes on cases alone. He won't talk to anyone. He's like a shell of himself. We need to do something." Catherine stared at her coffee. The powdery crap wasn't dissolving. Greg hid the half-n-half somewhere, maybe in his old fridge in the DNA lab. She'd have to check there later. She rose, taking the cup and dumping it into the small sink in the kitchen. "Blech." She turned to Brass, leaning against the counter. "He respects you. He trusts you. You should talk to him."

Brass sighed, deflating to half his size.

"That was a helluva sigh," Catherine said with mild humor.

"This is a helluva thing, Cath. Are you sure that she and Warrick aren't dating?"

"I'm almost positive. I asked her point-blank and she said 'no'."

"They're friendlier than they were before," Jim said.

"Well, that's to be expected. They spend more of their free time together now." _Oops, that might have sounded a little snippy._

Jim raised an eyebrow at her but thankfully let it go. "You're _sure_ they aren't an item."

"Why don't you ask him, if you don't believe me?"

"Ask who what?" Warrick said as he walked into the kitchen. He'd overheard a little when he was approaching, and suspected this was about him and Sara. Grissom hadn't been the same since that Monday, and the guilt was gnawing away at Warrick's conscience. He'd botched a trace analysis last week because of it. Stress was not good for Warrick. Maybe Catherine and Brass were going to do something about Grissom.

"Ask you," Catherine stated simply, her blue eyes afire. "If you and Sara are…" She paused for a moment. "…together."

The surprise on Warrick's face was clear. Of all people, Catherine suspected that he and Sara were involved. This was disappointing, perhaps she didn't know him as well as he assumed.

"No, Cath," he said softly, his eyes gazing intently into hers, "we're not."

"Oh. Well." She was a little flustered, and Warrick mentally grinned. _Gotcha, babe._ He loved doing that to her. "So there Jim," she said, all composed and professional, "there's your answer."

"You should stop by and hear us sometime, Catherine. If shift is slow, or you're on break." Warrick purred softly. "Thursday nights, _The Black Velvet Lounge._ We'll play something special for you." And with a soft gaze towards her, he walked out of the kitchen, and back to work.

Jim Brass chuckled softly into his coffee mug. Catherine shot him a dark look. "What?"

"Nothing… nothing at all," he said innocently.

"It better be nothing, is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am."

"For that, you are handling Grissom on your own. I was going to help, but that's it. You're flying solo. Serves you right, 'ma'am-ing' me."

Brass sighed again. Someday he'd learn. Obviously, that day wasn't today.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Just don't let me know you're there, okay? Sit in the back, or somewhere that I can't see you. You'll freak me out."

"Aw c'mon Sar," Nick teased, "you don't suffer from stage fright, do you?"

"No," she said defensively, "I don't. At least not in front of strangers. You guys are a different story."

"We'll sit in the back," Greg agreed. "We won't scare you." Greg's newly developed loyalty to Sara was obvious to everyone, including Sara herself. She was flattered by his attention, but she didn't want to lead him on. With work, and especially with her second 'job', she really didn't have time for a relationship.

That didn't stop her subconscious from haunting her dreams with images of a shadowed Grissom, standing just beyond the lights at the club, staring at her with eyes she couldn't see, eyes she could only feel. And she felt their intensity, their desire. Too many times to count, she'd had dreams of him being one of the many men in her audience, lusting for her like they all did. Too many times in her dreams he would be backstage, waiting for her, taking her there behind the curtain. It took her a couple of weeks to get the dream about the piano out of her head. That'll teach her to watch '_Pretty Woman' _on a rainy afternoon.

"Thank you, Greg," she replied in a friendly tone. "And you," she said to Nick, "you leave Warrick alone."

"What? You always assume the worst. Did I say I was going to do anything?"

"No, but I know you. No Mag-lite in his eyes, or mine for that matter. Nothing. This is important to us."

"I know," Nick said, a little hurt by her words.

"Oh, knock it off. You know what I meant." Sara nudged her shoulder against his. She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings.

Nick grinned evilly. "So the whoopee cushion on the piano bench is okay, right?"

"Nick!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jim Brass sat in his friend's office, noticing the deep lines creasing his friend's face. Catherine was right. Gil looked like shit.

"So, the Klinefelter case wrapped up smoothly. Good work on that." Jim was trying, desperately, to get Grissom to say something to him. He'd been here for five minutes, and the most he'd gotten out of the guy was "'Yes', 'No', and 'Mmm-hmm'". None were very useful for initiating a conversation.

"Mmm," Grissom mmm'ed.

"Gil. We need to talk."

Grissom sighed, removing his glass. "What," he said with a hard stare.

"You're a wreck. You hide in this office, you talk to no one, and you look like death warmed over."

"Catherine put you up to this."

Jim couldn't fault the guy for his brains. Grissom was nobody's fool. "She's worried," he said honestly. "So am I. So is your team."

"Doubtful."

"Depression doesn't become you, Gil."

"I'm not depressed. I'm realistic."

Time to drag the elephant out of the corner. "They aren't together."

Grissom's head lifted slightly. This encouraged Brass to continue. "Catherine asked both Sara and Warrick directly about it, on different occasions. They both state that they aren't involved." Jim lowered his voice a little. "I can assure you that Warrick isn't after Sara. He's got a serious thing for Cath, and he isn't hiding it from her either. I think it makes her nervous."

This lifted Grissom's head back up to a relatively normal position. He said nothing, but his eyes asked, '_you're sure?'_

"Oh yeah. He invited her to come to their club. Said they'd play something special for her. It was damn obvious, and she knew it and so did I. Made her all flustered. It was kind of funny." Brass smirked. It was downright hysterical. He'd never thought he'd see the day when Miss In-Control Catherine was stumped. But Warrick had thrown her for a loop in under five minutes.

"You saw this," Grissom said, finally sounding like a human being instead of a corpse. "Unbiased opinion."

"Oh yeah. There's no doubt. He's hot for Catherine."

Grissom scowled, and Jim noticed a flicker of animation in him. "He tricked me."

"What?"

"Warrick. He tricked me. He let me think they were involved."

"Huh?" Brass said, stumped.

"With the forms, those damned, stupid forms."

Brass was beyond confused. "You're going to have to put it in reverse a bit and fill me in if you want me to follow along with this conversation."

Grissom stared off into space; Brass had seen this before. Grissom was off in la-la land, and he'd be back in a few. Jim leaned back in the office chair and waited. This might be good.

"He asked me to sign the form," Grissom muttered in monotone. "I said no. He countered, I still said no. He said 'why', I told him. He said it was personal. I told him it wasn't. And then he'd started in about _her…_" His voice trailed off.

Jim sat and looked at Grissom patiently, waiting for him to continue. _Oh, this is gonna be sooo good._

Grissom stared off into space again for a while, until he suddenly sat up straight in his chair, realizing something. Either that or one of his bugs just bit him in the ass. Brass sighed. _Damn._ _Well, at least he's animated again._

"Jim, it's Thursday, right?"

"Yup, been Thursday all day. Although in about an hour, a miracle happens and it's magically Friday. Why?"

"You'll have to excuse me, Jim," Grissom said distractedly. "I need to be somewhere."

"Gil, don't you dare," Brass warned. But Grissom left without another word, leaving Brass alone in the office, staring out to the hallway and debating whether or not to chase after his friend.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sara peeked out from behind the stale-smelling red wool curtain. Warrick was hovering nervously behind her, and Pete was off in the corner, catching a quick drag before their last set of the evening began.

"Do you see them?" Warrick whispered softly in her ear, making her jump. She was freaking. She kept wiping her hands nervously along the side of her black satin dress.

"Yes. Dear God, there they are."

"Relax, Sara. They're only here for an hour, tops. You can do this."

"Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod."

"What?"

"Grissom's here."

Warrick gently pushed her aside as he peered beyond the stage into the crowd. He spotted Nick and Greg easily, and _oh shit_, there was Cath sitting with them. And there was Bobby, and Hodges had tagged along. _Leech._

"I don't see him, Sar."

"He's… he's in the back. Past the bar, right side, near the door."

Warrick checked again and damn if she wasn't right. Well maybe. The guy certainly _looked_ like Grissom, but it was dark back there, and Warrick really couldn't be sure unless the guy stepped into the light more. "I dunno. Look, don't let it get to you, okay? You can do this." He grabbed her shoulders gently and turned her to face him. "Look at me. You can do this. Now say it. _I can do this._"

"I… I can do this."

"That's right. Once more."

"I can do this."

"Now," he said, spinning her around so she could see the crowd, "look out there and say it to them."

She stiffened, but he heard her murmur it softly. "_I can do this._"

"Good. Now let's go show them how damn good we are."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Twenty minutes of Sara and Warrick's performance left Nick, Greg and Catherine in a state of shocked surprise.

"Holy shit," Nick whispered to Catherine, "she's good. He's good. Damn, _they're good._" Catherine only stared, a strange expression on her face. Greg looked lovestruck. Nick couldn't blame him; Sara was downright _tempting_ in her dress. And her voice, and the way she talked to the crowd… "Holy shit," he said again.

Sara had finished her fifth song, some ballad Nick didn't know about un-breaking her heart. Now she was singing something a little more upbeat. That uncanny prickle on the back of his neck, that someone was watching him, made Nick turn around. His eyes found Grissom, sitting at the far corner of the bar, shredding what appeared to be a napkin. Or more than one, as there was a small pile in front of him. Grissom's eyes would shift from Sara, to the pile in front of him, to their table, and then back to Sara again. Two empty shot glasses sat off to his left.

"No way…" Nick hit Catherine lightly on her shoulder, snapping her out of her trance. "Grissom's here." Catherine started scanning the crowd in earnest, but Nick stopped her quickly. "Shh! Be discreet. He's behind us, at the bar, far right corner."

Catherine shifted, and waited for almost two minutes before discreetly glancing towards the door. She turned and murmured back to Nick, "I saw him. I can't believe he's here."

Sara was finished and talking to the crowd again, in that damn sultry voice that made Nick question his moral integrity. _Sara is my friend. Sara is my friend. God, I'm gonna need a cold shower tonight. Shit!_

"I think some of you guys out there have waited long enough," Sara murmured huskily as the lighting on the stage shifted to a dark, soft red. "Would you like me to sing it for you?"

"You bet babe!" an obvious regular called out from the crowd.

Sara chuckled lightly, "You sure you don't want me to sing something else?"

"No!" came a cry from a multitude of men. This was obviously a common part of the show, as the red dimmed, leaving only a soft spotlight on Sara.

"Okay then, if you want it that badly…" And she launched into a version of 'Black Velvet' that made Nick's spine tingle, and it wasn't the only body part that was reacting.

Nick shifted in his chair and nudged Catherine. They both turned around slowly, checking on their supervisor's reaction to her taunting words to the crowd, and her song, only to see him walking swiftly to the door. He opened it and disappeared in an instant, the only trace of his presence the shredded napkin bits sitting at the bar. A gust of wind from Grissom's departure reached the pile a few seconds later, and _they watched as the pieces fluttered through the air._

… _continued next chapter ->_


	5. July 21st 2005

**Disclaimer:** Again, CSI is not mine. The lines aren't mine. Everything in between them is mine. And my truck, it's mine. I've got the title for it and everything.

**Rating, Beta Props, etc.** – See Chapter 1.

**A/N: **I'm feeling guilty about blowing the word limit in the last chapter. But getting to that last line about the pieces in the air was difficult. Not particularly fond of that last line, but hey – I made it work, somewhat. Hope someone out there is enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. It is so much fun to yank Grissom's chain.

First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says 2,094 words, but if you take out this A/N and the comment at the bottom, and include only the story, it's 1,943. So I'm close.

_

* * *

"I need an engagement ring,"_ Sara said as she strode into the analysis room, firmly planting two photographs on top of the paperwork Grissom wasn't even reading. "This," she said, pointing to the photo on the left, "is from her autopsy photos. Notice the indents on her left ring finger. And this," she said, pointing to the photo on the right, "is from a photo album her bedroom." The second photo had a young, scruffy-faced man wearing a huge cowboy hat down on one knee in someone's living room, holding a small ring-like object in his hand. The clarity wasn't that great, but it did look like a ring. A younger and very much alive version of their vic was staring dumbly at the cowboy in pure shock. 

"There's no ring at the scene, and none in her personal belongings. Her mother says that Tex here broke it off with her about a week ago. My guess is that it's the other way around, and this guy," Sara barked, jabbing her finger at the photo, "didn't want to lose her, so he made sure no other man would have her."

Grissom blinked slowly, and studied the photographs in front of him. He stared at them for a while.

Sara groaned in impatience. "I want a warrant. To search the ex-fiance's house and find that ring. If we can't get that, we should check the local pawn shops to see if he hocked it."

"Oh, yes. Try the pawn shops." Grissom said, clearly distracted. "Take Greg with you."

"Grissom, I need _you_ to get the warrant from Brass."

"I will."

Sara stared at him strangely, and not for the first time. She still didn't know if it was him last week at the _Black Velvet_, and when she'd asked Nick, he said he hadn't seen Grissom at all. But something was definitely off with him. Sara hadn't asked how Warrick had managed to get approval again, but he had, and ever since then Grissom had been weird. Well, weirder than normal.

"Grissom," she asked softly, "is something wrong?"

He responded with more blinking, and a soft "Hmm?" But Sara detected the hint of sarcasm in his voice, and suddenly she realized he was deliberately behaving this way. She reviewed his behavior quickly in her mind, and yes, he was taunting her.

"I said, 'is something wrong.' And clearly, something _is_ wrong."

Sara watched as Grissom tried to suppress the scowl that was slowly taking over his face. _Okay, so he's not a happy camper. Big deal._

"So," she pressed, "what is it? You always said you had an 'open-door' policy and we could always come to you with questions. Well, I've got a question, and I'd like an answer." Sara knew she was being snotty, but she was frustrated with Grissom's attitude lately. "This is about my singing, isn't it?"

Grissom said nothing, but his scowl deepened and Sara saw he was attempting to reign in his temper. _I don't believe him. He doesn't like me singing. He's such a damned hypocrite._

"Go ahead," she stated. "Say it. Say you don't like me singing at the club with Warrick."

Grissom's eyes narrowed as he lowered his glasses and met her gaze. "I do not like you singing at that club with Warrick."

"Okay, why?"

"It's beneath you."

"What? Excuse me? It's '_beneath me_'? I'm damn good and _you know it_, and I'm making a small fortune in the process. And it doesn't interfere with my work one bit. If anything, work is easier because of it. So please do explain, how is it '_beneath me_' to do something that I love?"

Grissom sat in stony silence.

"Oh no, you can't go dropping words like that without a logical explanation to back it up. That's a total cop-out and 'beneath' you."

He squared his shoulders with her. "You are nothing but a cheap distraction for a bunch of sex-crazed losers who enjoy every bit of attention that you throw them as part of your little 'act'. They aren't there to listen to you sing; in fact they probably could care less what you sound like. They're there to watch you prance around on a stage in sexually enticing clothing most commonly worn by upscale call girls."

Sara's face froze in horror. "You _fucking bastard._" And she slapped him hard across his pompous arrogant face. Her eyes welled with tears, and she fled the room. Grissom eyes burned with an icy fire as he watched her leave.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He sat in his office, alone, his cheek throbbing. Sara hadn't held back. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so blunt. But really, that's all she was, a beautiful siren to distract lonely men from their problems for a few hours. It was obvious that she wasn't drawing a mixed crowd, a family crowd. She was drawing in a male crowd. All who had eyed her like she was a Sunday all-you-can-eat buffet. The sooner she realized the reality of the situation, the better.

She was beautiful. And she was a siren. Grissom found her voice hypnotic; it now haunted his dreams. It was no wonder that place was packed when he'd arrived. He was sure that now many men shared the same dreams he did, and the thought made Grissom's blood boil.

He was jealous. He knew it. He was jealous of Warrick, of the faceless men at the club, and of the dresses Sara wore that caressed her skin in ways that boggled his mind. And he was angry, especially at her. Angry at her for taking his words from years ago seriously. Angry at her for moving on, and getting a life outside the lab. Angry that she was happy, and that she had found that happiness without him.

A harsh knock on his door focused his attention on the woman striding towards him. He frowned. This wasn't going to go well.

"You told her she was goddamned prostitute?" Catherine hollered into his face. "_Are you fucking insane?_" She paced quickly in front of him. "Sara's in the locker room, packing up her stuff. She's beyond upset. I've never seen her so upset. She's shaking, and she's most likely hyperventilating. She keeps making these hiccup-y noises. Warrick and Nick are in there with her, trying to calm her down, and you'd better bolt out of here soon, because I think Warrick's going to beat your ass to a pulp. _What were you fucking thinking?_"

"I told her the truth. That crowd at that club is only there because of how she dresses, and the 'act' she taunts them with."

"I can't believe you. You've truly outdone yourself. Are you deaf? Did you not hear her?"

Grissom shot Catherine a violent glare. She, of all people, should know how he felt about deafness.

"Oh no," she said defiantly, pointing a finger in his face, "don't you dare play that card. Don't even think about going there."

"Then you shouldn't have 'gone there', either."

"Boo-hoo. Poor sensitive Gil got his feelings hurt. My ass, pal. You're going to have to get used to the fact that she's moved on. She's got a life now, outside of this lab. You can't expect her to agree to living like a hermit with you when you won't even tell her how you feel. It's obvious you've got a problem with her singing. Get over it, or tell her why it's a problem. Tell her the _real reason_."

Grissom glared at Catherine. She didn't understand. The tension between them was mounting.

Catherine took on a haughty tone. "My suggestion to you is to get your stupid self out of this lab, and over to her apartment, where you'd better beg for her forgiveness and explain to her why you are acting like a complete and total idiot. You'll be lucky if she doesn't quit."

"I could have her fired," Grissom stated. "She assaulted me."

"She _assaulted you_? What'd she do, smack you upside your obnoxious head?"

Grissom simply nodded, and was caught unaware as Catherine's hand whipped from her side to repeat Sara's performance from earlier. _SLAP._ Grissom made a mental note. Catherine was just as strong as Sara.

"How's that for assault, you asshole? Now you can fire me too." And Catherine stormed out of his office, leaving him standing there with his hand once again touching his face. If he didn't have a bruise develop, it would be a miracle.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was daylight when Sara walked into _The Black Velvet Lounge_, and the familiar dark ambience of the place had been replaced by harsh white lights and opened windows. A maid was vacuuming the mottled red carpet, and Sara noticed the stains that weren't visible at night. Some carpenter-looking types were on stage, building some type of skyline backdrop. Sara hoped it wasn't for her and Warrick.

She walked straight to the back, to Sam's office. She caught the scent of his Marlboro's halfway down the hall, and smiled to herself. _He's here._ She knew what she was going to say was most likely going to piss him off, but she didn't know what else to do. She'd told Warrick, and he'd been vehemently against it. But she was stubborn and pig-headed in her own right, and right now, this was what was best for her. He'd left her apartment angry, and Sara regretted that. Hopefully he would get over this.

Sara stood in Samuel Clemson's doorway, watching again as those bratwurst fingers delicately lifted the treasured cigarette. "Sam," she said firmly to get his attention.

He turned to her, surprised. "Miss Sara. This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you here… wait, is something wrong?"

"Sam, I've got to leave town for a while. A month or so. It's a personal matter I need to attend to."

Sam scowled deeply. "I knew you wouldn't stay. You're moving on right? You and Brown got a better gig someplace else? I'll double whatever they're paying you."

Guilt panged at Sara. "No. No, Sam. It isn't like that. And Warrick is upset about this too. This is something personal with me; I need to get away for a bit."

Sam looked at her with deep-set milky brown eyes, the years of smoke and drink and life creasing his face. "Is this about a guy? Are you on the run? If some guy hurt you, particularly some guy from here, you let me know right away and I'll have him taken care of." He paused. "You didn't get yourself knocked up, did you babe?"

Sara smiled softly at Sam's warped sense of concern. "No, Sam, really. It's nothing like that. I just need a little time to get some other parts of my life in order."

"There's nothing I can say to make you change your mind, is there," Sam said, defeated. Sara knew he was going to lose a bit of money over this.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll be in touch."

Sam frowned, his disappointment written deep on the lines of his face. "Take care of yourself, Miss Sara."

"I will," she said as she walked away from his door. She heard him get up and close it softly behind her. She walked backstage, and studied the small place that had become like a second home to her. It looked different with the house lights on. Less cozy, more stark, almost shabby. The wool curtains looked ragged and threadbare. Perhaps Grissom was right. Perhaps this wasn't what it seemed.

One of the carpenter-types interrupted her thoughts with a sharp yell to his co-worker. "Hey! _Don't get any paint on that!"_

… _continued next chapter ->_


	6. August 4th 2005

**Disclaimer:** Wow, there's CSI on my TV again. But alas, it still isn't mine. For the record, Gary Dourdan is hot and I want William Peterson – BAD. Bummer he's married. And in this ep, the special effects people are not impressing me at all. That is a lazy ass Adobe Photoshop rewind of the smudge tool on a fingerprint jpeg. At least run a couple more filters on it to make it look a little more realistic. Geez.

**Rating, Beta Props, etc.** – See Chapter 1.

**A/N: **This week's lines were tough – but still, this is a helluva lotta fun. This is apparently turning out to be a melancholy and introspective chapter. Although I can't let it go without a little wry humor.

First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says 1,801 words.

_

* * *

The ringing of the cell phone shattered the unnatural quiet._ Sara stood from her vigil at the bedroom window and walked to the white lace doily on the night stand. The still-ringing phone indicated that Grissom was calling again. And again, Sara chose not to answer. She'd have thought he would have figured it out by now – she wasn't answering. Obviously he hadn't. 

She returned to the softly upholstered wingback chair to continue her observation of the bay. Her bay; Tomales Bay. The inn she was staying at now was the same inn she'd admired as a child. Her parents' bed and breakfast could never compete with the luxury and ambiance that The Sterling Inn held. Sara was always in awe of the grand old Victorian home and its sandy beaches. And as it turns out, the food isn't half bad here, either.

The decision to come to the Inn was easily made. Sara was living out her dreams, as many as she could, if only for a little while. She'd taken a month of leave time. Last week she'd been in Arizona, and she had spent the majority of her time with the Canyon, making peace with her soul and enjoying the solace and serenity of nature. The week prior she'd been in Boston, touring her old haunts and visiting her old campus. She had attempted to look up some of her favorite professors, but they had since retired and moved out of the state. Such is life, she had thought.

This week was a homecoming for her, and she'd even been brave enough to walk past _there_, the old two-story colonial where her skewed version of normalcy had been carved into her soul. It was still a bed and breakfast, but the entire outside had been re-done and there wasn't even a shadow remaining of the home she had known as a child. Time changes everything, she had thought.

Next week was a return to her current home, a week to recover from traveling, a week to determine what she would do with her life from here on out. She'd finally made an unsteady peace with her past, but the nagging questions about the present and the future still remained in the back of her mind. Her beautiful bay wasn't providing any answers either.

She stood, and walked back to the night stand, sitting slowly on the plush bed beside it. She lifted her phone in her hand, reviewing the call log for the umpteenth time. Grissom had called a total of fifteen times now. Three times during the first week, five times the second week, and seven times already this week. She considered returning his call. Perhaps he was just concerned. Perhaps he thought something had happened to her, and he wanted to make sure she was okay.

Perhaps he was just a controlling and self-centered bastard trying to manipulate her yet again into doing what _he_ wanted her to do.

Sara frowned before placing the phone back in its place and laying her back width-wise along the bed. She loved him. She knew it deep in her soul, and this time away from him echoed her feelings loud and clear. The Grand Canyon had told her that, in each piece of nature that she saw, she had wished Grissom was there to share it with her. He would love the Canyon, she had thought.

Yet it wasn't meant to be. She'd known this before his outburst and was sure of it now. It wasn't meant to be. It was too much for him, too many sacrifices and too much compromise. He couldn't handle whatever it was he felt for her. She tried not to overanalyze their past, but instead recall it in an unbiased manner. What would she tell a friend if they were in the same situation? And she knew, without hesitation, that she'd tell that friend to pack it up and get the hell outta Vegas, pronto. Move on, girlfriend. Quit wasting your time.

The thought of permanently leaving Vegas ripped at her heart. She didn't want to move. Where would she go? She didn't want to start over someplace else; not at her age. Transitioning from San Francisco to Las Vegas had been jarring enough, thank you. And she would miss her co-workers. Warrick, Nick, Greg, Jim, David, Bobby, Doc Robbins… heck, she'd even miss Catherine. She would miss her job and the semblance of stability and virtue it provided her. She would miss her apartment, and her grocery store, and the familiar faces that surrounded her every day. And she knew, she would miss him most of all. Not seeing him again would leave a permanent scar across her soul that would never heal.

The deep sigh she released did nothing to calm the thoughts spinning in her head. Particularly the one that wanted her to sing here in town, at the Sailor's Dock two blocks up the road. She'd seen the sign for open mike night as she drove in earlier this week. It was tomorrow, Friday, at 8:30 p.m. The desire to return to the stage was strong, but she was alone – no Warricks in sight. Could she sing on her own, without his support? Should she? It felt like a betrayal of what they'd shared. Still, the idea remained, buzzing around in her mind like a fly trapped in a windowsill.

Enough. Dinner was in a half hour, so Sara reached for the paperback she was reading last night and headed downstairs.

When she walked through the archway into the common room, chaos surrounded her. People were packed next to one another like cattle lined up for slaughter. There was a haze of anxiety and impatience in the air.

Of course, it was a wedding. The Sterling Inn was known for its romantic charm and its high-profile catering facilities. Sara wormed her way through the crowd to the kitchen and dining room area, only to find a sign indicating that dinner was unavailable for this evening. Dammit. Sara wasn't in the mood to flit around town looking for a place to eat, and the loud nagging in her head was of course suggesting she try out the Sailor's Dock. '_Harmless… just go look… check it out… don't have to commit to anything…'_

Well, it wouldn't hurt to just have a drink and something simple. God knows she could use a drink. Her subconscious would need it to shut the hell up.

She went back to her suite to drop off her book and make herself more presentable. She knew it didn't matter; why would anyone out here care about a middle-aged gap-toothed brunette? She was just getting dinner, not socializing or cruising the singles scene. _If you sign up, you'll want to look pretty… and what if you meet the man of your dreams there? You never know…_

Sara stared at herself in the mirror. God, maybe she needed more than a drink. Maybe she needed to get laid. She could sing tomorrow night, and the man of her dreams would be in the crowd. He'd see her, and come up to her after her performance. He'd be tall and sexy and smart, and maybe blonde. He would _not_ have blue eyes. Definitely no blue eyes. He'd be adorably embarrassed and flustered, but he'd ask her to dinner anyway. She'd smile and they'd eat pizza at the little shack right on the bay. He'd hold her hand and tell her that he'd never seen anyone like her. They'd walk across the sand in the moonlight, and he'd kiss her like she'd never been kissed before…

Maybe she should just turn off her overactive imagination for a minute and live in the real world. Her reflection scowled at her. _Get a grip, Sidle. _

Frustrated with herself, she left the Inn and walked around the side to the parking lot to find it packed with cars. Great. The wedding ceremony was in full swing down by the gazebo. A young couple from the looks of it. _Whoopee for them._ Sara gave it five years, tops. They were too young, and nowadays most first marriages ended in divorce anyways.

Off to the side of the heavily decorated gazebo, a lone man who appeared to be sweltering in a too-tight tuxedo stood next to a large box. Apparently getting some sign from either the couple or the minister-type performing the ceremony, he walked ceremoniously over to the box and lifted the lid.

A large number of white birds, most likely doves, flew off into the amber sunset of the sky. It truly was breathtaking, and a pang echoed deep in Sara's chest. Would she ever have such a ceremony? Did she really want one? She realized that yes; part of her did want something like this. She watched as the pale birds circled once, twice, and then flew northeast, over and around the back of the Inn. Sara didn't move until the sun had lowered itself beneath the bay, and the twinkle of the first evening stars had appeared over her head.

With the ceremony over, Sara went to step into her rental car. A wry smile formed on her face as she looked over towards the catered dinner under the huge white tent. Perhaps she'd skip the doves at her wedding. An older woman, probably the mother was screaming at the man in the too-tight tuxedo. Another man in a chef's hat was hollering at him in French as well. Both were pointing at the table in front of them, and Sara could just make out the cause of their distress. _A lone dove floated in the punch bowl._

… _continued next chapter ->_

**

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A/N:** Now really, where else would you find a dove winding up in a punch bowl? Good thing there were no doves at my wedding. Well, that was by design - my dog would have eaten them in a heartbeat. 


	7. August 11th 2005

**Disclaimer:** Lines are not mine. CSI is only mine in my dreams. The lyrics quoted in this chapter are oh-so-not mine. They were retrieved from the websites listed at the end of this fic, they are copywritten and again, they are not mine.

**Rating, Beta Props, etc.** – See Chapter 1. Thanks to Cybrokat and Jennie yet again!

**A/N: **Wow, Omigod, thank you reviewers! I had forgotten how amazing it is to get a review. Thank you everyone! No really, THANK YOU!

First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says 1,932 words (not counting this part and the disclaimer stuff at the end).

_

* * *

"How did a cactus end up there?" Sara mused._ She shifted her weight a little, stretching to get a better view. It was real, and it was the last thing she'd expected to see backstage at the Sailor's Dock. Then again, she could say that she herself was the last thing that should be backstage. But here she was, and she was next. The incredibly young man on stage was murdering _"Incomplete"_, and the keyboard player in the far corner was trying very hard to keep a straight face. 

Sara had to scramble to get a copy of the sheet music she needed for her song tonight. She had a copy at her apartment, but she wasn't about to call anyone in Vegas and request them to fax it. Particularly Warrick. The thought of calling Grissom never entered her mind.

After she'd signed up last night, she'd spent a few minutes scanning the hotel's copy of the San Francisco yellow pages. She'd found a couple places that might have what she needed, and after some phone calls this morning, and a long drive into the city and back, she had her music.

Warrick had eyed her strangely when she'd suggested they perform it back in Vegas, so she dropped it without a second thought. But it was a favorite of hers, and this might be the only opportunity she'd have to perform it. It wasn't like she had to practice much; she sang it so many times to herself that she knew it by heart. It was one of 'her' songs.

Mild applause was accompanied by a few whoots and wild cheers from a couple of other young boys in the far corner. Her fellow contestant had finished, and Sara's turn had come. Finally. The night had started late, at 9:30 p.m., and there were apparently many locals who got a kick out of getting up on stage. It was like a warped version of karaoke. Now, some time past midnight, only she and another young woman remained.

Sara smoothed her new skirt and ran her hand through her hair. She'd dressed the part for the area, and her sandals were doing little to keep her feet warm in the air-conditioned coolness. It was now or never. She repeated her mantra silently in her head as she strode confidently out onto the small stage.

_I can do this._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Grissom was not an impulsive man. Nor was he prone to irrational decisions based on the state of his emotions. But hey, everyone has an off day now and then. When he'd informed the lab that he was taking a few days off, many eyebrows were raised. When he'd been questioned by Catherine as to where the hell he was going, his response of "Away" had not been well-received. But at least she was talking to him, and Grissom's face remained handprint-free.

He suspected they all were aware of the root of his departure. The turmoil between him and Sara was the hottest topic in the rumor mill for a week. It was unfortunate that Sara had departed so quickly. Many, many people rallied in her defense, and he'd had numerous "conversations" with his staff as well as others. No woman in the lab or on the force smiled at him now; cold stares and clipped words were their responses. Nick and Greg were close-mouthed and distant, almost bordering on disrespect. Jim ignored him entirely, as if he didn't exist.

As for Warrick, his light eyes bore into Grissom's each time they interacted. Grissom felt a small prickle of concern at their intensity. Warrick watched him as a predator would its prey. Grissom had attempted to diffuse some of the hostility between them, only to be met with silence. Warrick's attitude made Grissom think of panthers in the jungle, patiently waiting for the opportunity to pounce. It was disconcerting.

So Grissom did the only thing he could to do when Sara continuously refused to answer his calls. He called up her credit card on Archie's computer and found out where she was staying. He booked a flight, made a reservation at the bed and breakfast, and left.

He'd seen Sara yesterday, as she watched the ceremony from the parking lot. He'd followed her to the Sailor's Dock and it didn't take much brainpower to realize she'd be back here tonight. He wasn't disappointed; he'd seen her arrive hours ago, handing her paperwork to the middle-aged woman now responsible for playing the accompaniment for each singer.

He was certain she couldn't see him. How could she? He was almost flush against the wall nearest the stage. She wouldn't see him until she was on stage, and it was then that Grissom planned to place himself backstage. She'd have to speak with him then. There was only one way on and off the small black platform.

The atmosphere was casual and relaxed, the patrons mostly locals who got a kick out of watching their friends perform. Grissom knew Sara would blow them away. The young man on stage had finished, and Grissom stood quietly, leaving his bourbon and water on the small table in front of him. As Sara walked on, Grissom headed towards the rear of the restaurant. She waited for silence, and her intensity caused the crowd to quiet themselves.

A soft piano began two seconds after Sara began with a beautifully heartbreaking song Grissom had never heard before.

"_What ravages of spirit_

_conjured this temptuous rage_

_created you a monster,_

_broken by the rules of love"_

Grissom made his way quickly past the scruffy staff type who was nudging a waitress to get her attention. They walked right by him, intrigued by Sara, allowing Grissom full access to the small, cramped and stuffy area that constituted backstage. A short young woman with extremely curly hair was watching Sara intently from behind the thick curtain. The flare of competition was prevalent in her stance, and Grissom suspected Sara might not be the only siren present in this small restaurant tonight.

Cheap white Christmas lights were strung where the corners of the stage walls met the ceiling. Their glow reflected on Sara's hair, making it sparkle and gleam in bright auburn. She was so beautiful to him; it made his breath catch in his throat. Yet her song was breaking his heart.

"_But I have the sense to recognize_

_that I don't know how to let you go…"_

She had been moving slowly, but after a short interlude by the piano, she stood ramrod straight and stared at the black paint covering the wooden stage floor.

She sang:

"_a glowing ember, burning hot_

_burning slow_

_deep within I'm shaken by the violence of existing_

_for only you_

_I know I can't be with you_

_I do what I have to do"_

She continued, emptying the anguish in her soul as the song climaxed and then ended. Not one member of that audience could have missed the pain and despair in her voice, and there was a pause before the expected outbreak of applause and scratch of chairs against wood as people rose to give Sara the ovation she deserved.

Grissom watched her nod softly to the crowd and with a hint of a smile; she turned and headed his way. It was now or never.

Sara sighed as she crossed the curtain line of sight, smiling at her competitor. The other woman seemed to acknowledge Sara curtly, and Sara turned her head, probably shooting the woman a nasty look, as she walked straight into Grissom, colliding into his chest with a _thud_.

Okay, so maybe Grissom stepped out from behind the cactus when her head was turned.

"Oh! Excuse me!" Sara murmured in polite surprise. It took her eight seconds to realize just who she was talking to. It took another three for her to put some distance between the two of them.

"Hello, Sara," he whispered quietly. The other woman had started, and this time Grissom recognized the tune. He smiled to himself and hoped that Sara would take its words to heart, so to speak.

"You," she growled under her breath. "I should have known."

"I need to speak with you," his quiet voice rising a little in urgency.

"Shh!" she shushed him as she gestured vehemently to the stage.

He mouthed silently, "After she's finished."

Sara turned and watched the stage. Grissom stood behind her, entirely too close for comfort.

They listened, and Sara could tell that this young woman was as good as or better than she was. Her voice was clear, pure; whereas Sara's was deep and thick. The accompaniment was minimal; it was almost an acapella piece.

"_Listen to your heart_

_when he's calling for you_

_Listen to your heart_

_there's nothing else you can do_

_I don't know where you're going_

_and I don't know why_

_But listen to your heart_

_before… you tell him goodbye"_

Sara's whole being choked on the words. She knew her heart. She suspected she knew his as well. And he was here, at least four inches too close to her in fact. She could almost feel the heat from his body against her back.

The song was almost over. Sara turned to face him again.

"Let's go," she murmured. "We can talk outside."

The applause had started, and it was just as loud as when Sara performed. "What about the contest?" he asked.

"It's hers. I know when I've been outdone."

"As you wish," he replied, raising his arm to indicate that she should go before him.

She walked purposefully through the restaurant with Grissom right at her heels. They left together, a surprised hostess wondering why one of the best singers to grace their doorstep was leaving in such a hurry. She figured the darkly striking man behind her was the reason.

Sara walked past the lot and across the street to the path that led onto the pebbled beach of the bay.

"Sara," Grissom called with a tinge of annoyance. "We are not entered in a marathon."

She whirled to face him, anger and confusion etched on her face. "If you want to talk, we'll talk. But we'll do it on my terms, understand? You either follow where I lead or get lost. Are we clear?"

"There's no need for that kind of tone, Sara," he said irately.

"Yes," she stated, "there is."

Grissom quailed but followed her into the darkness. Sara walked for a long time, stopping only to remove small stones that had lodged in her sandals. Eventually they reached the remains of an outdoor pavilion of sorts, the wood faded but still sturdy. Sara sat at one of the old warped tables, and focused her attention on the slowly moving waters of the bay.

Grissom sat quietly next to her, leaving less than a foot of space between them. They sat in silence for a long time, the wind blowing softly and the only sounds were those of breeze through the long grasses and the occasional lap of the water.

"A storm is coming," Grissom said, pointing to the lightening sky and the dark clouds to the south.

"Let it come," she muttered.

"Sara, I'm sorry for what I said."

"I know," she replied, facing him. "But that doesn't solve the problem, does it?"

"No, but this might." He leaned forward and held her face gently against his palm. He lowered his lips to hers and gently kissed her.

A soft pit-pat of droplets on the roof the pavilion began as their kiss deepened. _The rain started as the sun rose._

_... continued next chapter ->_

_

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**A/N:** Aren't clichés fun? I think so! And here is the disclaimer info for 'Do What You Have To Do' and 'Listen to Your Heart'. Now seriously, what kind of 'Sara Sings' fic would this be without Sarah McLachlan's song? _

'Do What You Have To Do'

Performed by: Sarah McLachlan off her 1997 album 'Surfacing'

Produced by: Pierre Marchand and is copy written to Arista.

The snippets of lyrics for this song were taken from Sarah McLachlan's website.

'Listen To Your Heart'

Performed by: Roxette (on a compilation album dated 1988)

Produced by: Per Gessle (I believe) and copywritten to EMI.

Also performed by: DHT (a remix of this song) on an American album entitled 'Listen To Your Heart' dated 2005. It is the last track of this album (unplugged), I believe, that is the version I was going for in this fic. I heard it on the radio and went bazonkers for it.

DHT version produced by: Well, in Europe, it's Hardbounze in 2003 that most likely produced it, but the US version is under the Robbins Entertainment label.

In any regard – **_it's not mine!_**

The snippets of lyrics for this song were taken from the web, they're on numerous sites. I couldn't find a specific site for either group. Although you could say they are also taken from my memory, as I know the song by heart!


	8. August 18th 2005

**Disclaimer:** EVERYTHING IS MINE! Mwahahaha! Okay – that was the Tortuga Vanilla Rum and ginger ale speaking – CSI and the lines aren't mine.

**Rating, Beta Props, etc.** – See Chapter 1. I wuv Cybrokat and Jennie to death!

**A/N: **Thank you to all you wonderful reviewers and those who recommend me on YTDAW. And angst is so much fun. I really am having fun writing this. (Unlike icky _Equilibrium_.)

First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says, uh, well, more than 2000 words. Way more.

_

* * *

A loud cracking noise caught everyone's attention._ Nick looked up at the ceiling, as a small bit of dust floated down from between two of the wooden beams. "Let's get the hell outta here," he murmured urgently to Warrick and Catherine. The trio stepped back slowly, cautiously but quickly, each making their way to the front door of the abandoned warehouse at the same time. Another loud groan echoed overhead, and the three of them couldn't make it out of there fast enough. 

Five minutes later, the building crumbled onto itself, burying their DB and all of the correlating evidence surrounding his obvious murder. The CSIs, Brass, and some other uniforms all retreated as the dust and debris blew out from the rubble when the roof caved in.

"This is going to be a long night," Catherine spat, brushing bits of warehouse off her tank top.

Warrick and Nick glanced at one another, and Nick flipped open his cell phone. They needed a little help.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Grissom lifted his head slowly. Kissing Sara was exactly as he'd expected it would be, and he smirked a little at her cute, surprised expression when he'd kissed her. Plus, he'd needed air. And if he didn't stop kissing her now, they'd be doing a lot more right there in the pavilion. Grissom didn't think that would be very comfortable, and it certainly wasn't legal.

The rain continued to beat steadily on the overhang above them. The cool wind off the bay had ceased, and the air was heavy and warm. Sara was staring at him with a curious expression, but it was morphing into a frown of disdain. He began to grow concerned.

She sighed harshly, her shoulders jerking with the effort. "Dammit."

He looked at her, the question obvious in his eyes.

She met his with her own, and suddenly he found himself with a very different Sara. A non-angry, non-defensive, but very serious Sara. "Gil," she said, making him raise an eyebrow in surprise, "I don't know."

"What don't you know?"

"This. I don't know."

"What's the question you can't seem to answer?" he asked hesitantly.

She replied in return with, "What's the reason you've waited this long?"

He paused, scanning his mind for why he hadn't done this sooner. He was honest in his reply. "Cowardice."

"And that's why I don't know. You've known forever how I felt, and you did nothing. Our jobs are a mess because of this… this _thing _between us. I don't know if I can handle it getting any worse than it was before I left."

"What makes you think it'll get worse?"

"What makes you think it'll get better?" she countered.

"I went too far… with what I said. I can barely speak with Catherine, and she's the only one in both buildings who will speak with me at all. I, I need to fix this."

Sara sighed a little. "So now it's important. Now it involves your own discomfort as well as my own. That's why you're here."

Grissom shifted a little before placing his hand lightly on hers as it rested on her lap. "Not true. I have never been comfortable with… with this."

She scoffed, "Clearly."

"I can't expect you to understand, but I did what I thought was best for both of us at the time."

Her tone was harsh as she jerked her hand away from him. "See? _You_ made the decision, for _both of us._ Don't you see how warped that is? I swear - it's all about control with you, isn't it?"

"I can't control you, Sara," he said with a hint of humor.

"Yet you wish you could."

"Not exactly. Reverse your mindset."

"Huh?"

"Reverse it."

"'Reverse it.' Okay, if you don't want to control me, then what? I want to control you?"

"Yes. Well, partially."

"_I beg your pardon?_" she barked at him. "When have I ever tried to control you?"

Grissom started on a small tirade, an extreme for him. He lifted his hand and counted off the items on his fingers as he spoke. "You demand my attention at work, where I cannot give it without putting both of our careers in jeopardy, particularly yours. You threaten to quit if I don't acknowledge what's between us, automatically assuming that I should treat you differently because of how I feel. You date another man, and potentially jeopardize a case because of your relationship with him. Later you insinuate that I'm the one that forced you into his arms. When you tire of him, you focus your attention back on me, at a time when I was truly unable to handle any kind of relationship. You then point out that you are quite confident about this decision, and threaten me to 'figure it out' before it is 'too late'."

His shoulders drooped in defeat as he continued. "Christ Sara, it's like you want me to be something that I'm not."

Sara opened her mouth to retort, but then closed it and considered what he'd said. It took a while. She raised a finger and waved it near his nose, and she was oh-so adorable to him as she did it. "Don't you dare play this out like it is my fault," she said sharply.

"I never said it was."

"Sure sounds like it," she grumbled.

He reached out and took her shoulders in his hands, and squared them so that they faced each other directly. "Sara, I was wrong. I've been denying this for a very long time, and denial is not the solution. I regret this, I regret it all." He turned away for a moment, a tremor of apprehension and past rejections shaking through his mind. He gave a soft sigh before meeting her gaze. "We should have discussed this a long time ago. Now everything is a mess, and I want very much to fix it. Can you forgive me?"

Her eyes filled with tears. "Damn you, Grissom. _I don't know._"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Nick and Warrick, with the help of Greg and a few extra interns from the police station, had cleared away enough of the debris to get to their DB while still preserving some of the evidence surrounding him. Nothing else had been accomplished, and Catherine groaned as she considered the additional paperwork she'd have to fill out for this case. There were also the cases that had come in over the evening that hadn't been worked due to their time being spent out there. Paperwork surrounded her. _UGH!_

She stood from behind Grissom's desk and left his office. She needed a break. Catherine wandered through the hallways, checking first the kitchen and then the main assignment room. She checked the locker room last, and found all three of the boys inside, already changed into their spare sets of clothing.

"Hey guys," she said from the doorway, "I think we all deserve a little reward for our work tonight. How about breakfast at the buffet in the Tangiers? My treat?"

"Sure, sounds good," Nick said as Warrick just smiled softly at her in approval. Greg seemed to agree as well, although he wasn't nearly as jubilant as usual. The loss of Sara, if only for a few more days, must be bothering the junior CSI.

Once they'd finally settled themselves in the large booth, the guys' plates overflowing with every breakfast item imaginable, the inevitable conversation about Grissom and Sara began. Catherine was pleased, because discussing their two missing teammates was one of the reasons why she'd brought them all here.

"So," Greg mumbled through his pancake-filled mouth, "where is Grissom anyways?"

Nick swallowed before answering, "Could be off riding rollercoasters to blank his mind out. Or he could be racing those roaches of his. De-stress and all."

Catherine looked at Warrick cautiously before saying, "I think he's with Sara."

Warrick's eyes burned dark at the mention of this. "He'd better not be."

Catherine and Warrick had talked before Grissom's unexpected departure this week. Warrick had told Catherine about both requests for Grissom's signature on the forms. He told her how he'd let Grissom assume that he and Sara were an item out of spite. He also told her about Sara's insecurities about singing, her reactions to compliments, and how he suspected there were many demons that haunted her past.

Catherine had told Warrick about the plant, and about Grissom's reaction to the victim that resembled Sara. Catherine told him what she knew about Grissom's past, and the importance he placed on his career. Catherine also told him about Grissom's mother, and the hereditary deafness that also plagued Grissom. She told him about the surgery, and how he had handled it bravely despite his fear. She suspected that Grissom was also haunted by demons from his past.

What became clear to both of them was that they truly cared for their friends – Warrick for Sara and Catherine for Grissom. What wasn't clear was how they felt about each other, and they had both pretty much freaked out and bailed before their conversation headed into that territory.

Catherine had known Warrick would not be pleased when he heard her suspicions; his concern for Sara had deepened since they'd started performing together. Nick was already at that point, and Greg would most likely move mountains for her. In a way, it made Catherine jealous, yet she suspected that if something were to happen to her personally, they all would move mountains to help her as well. She considered herself independent in a way that Sara was not, and the lack of devotion on the guys' part was the price she paid for her self-reliance.

"If he's gone to find her, it's a big thing for him. It'll mean he's serious about her, about them as a couple." She spoke directly to Warrick, but the other two men were listening intently as well.

"I'm against it," Warrick spat. "She deserves better."

"She does," Nick added bitterly. "He's nuts."

"Wait," Catherine said defensively, "before this turns into a 'Bash Grissom' session due to your undying devotion for Sara, you should realize that she's most likely in love with him."

"She is," Greg chimed in. "I asked her point blank about it, and she got all defensive and denied it, but I knew." He smiled a little, slightly surprising everyone else at the table. "I think it's romantic."

"So you'd be okay if they were together?" Warrick asked, clearly dumbfounded. He wasn't alone in his confusion. All eyes focused on Greg.

"Sure," he replied cheerily, "Why not? Oh… you all think I'm still lusting after Sara? Wow, that's like so last year. I mean, she's my friend, and she's all kinds of hot, and if she asked me, I'd date her in a heartbeat. But I'm not… in mourning or something." Greg looked a bit surprised at their slack-jawed response. "What? We flirt! It's fun! It isn't like this job is a barrel of laughs or anything."

Catherine spoke first. "Well forgive us; we just assumed that your… calmer attitude was due to her."

Greg returned to his melancholy state of late. "No, it isn't that. It's this… being a CSI. I had no idea how utterly depressing it was." He lifted his head to stare at each of them individually. "I don't know how you all deal with it."

Nick, Catherine and Warrick all exchanged glances. Their job was what it was, a job. They'd distanced themselves from the human aspect, the pain of seeing yet another murder or rape or domestic assault. Greg was a part of their world before he became a CSI, so they'd never realized the difference in perception he might have. The three shared a moment remembering their first cases, their first crying jaunts over the innocent people that were beyond help.

"Hey," Warrick said, "it'll get better. You, well you get used to it."

"I dunno," Greg replied, "I don't think I can get used to this."

"Think of all the good you do," Nick said encouragingly. "You bring bad people to justice."

"I suppose."

"Hey," Catherine said, "enough of this depressing talk. Greg, you're really very good and it'll get easier – I promise. If you want to talk about it later, let me know, and I'll tell you a few of my horror stories, and why I still do this for a living. Now," she stated firmly, planting both hands firmly on the table, "if they are together when they finally come back, what are we going to do about it?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bitterness brewed in Sara's chest as she and Grissom walked in silence across the damp asphalt of the main road. They still had another quarter mile before they would be back at the parking lot of the Sailor's Dock. The air was heavy with the scent of the past storm, and Sara's mind was permanently locked into overdrive.

Okay, so yeah, maybe she was a little pushy and demanding about what she wanted sometimes. But he was still at fault here. He was the one that freaked out when she started singing with Warrick. He was the one that didn't communicate. It wasn't just her, it was him too. And what was she supposed to do, sit around being miserable and wait for him? Dating Hank wasn't her brightest maneuver, but it beat sitting at home scanning mail-order catalogs. Although Hank didn't kiss anything like Grissom did. God, it was like… it was just… _Damn Him_!

A small sigh escaped her, and she knew Grissom had tensed up at the sound. The fact that she knew without even looking at him aggravated her even more, and she scowled at the realization.

There were no right answers. She saw no easy solutions to this. God, she didn't even know if she could handle being in a relationship with this man. He was intense, to say the least. Yet, she loved him. She loved him more than ever, and her heart was pounding at the thought that he just might love her back.

'_Love isn't everything.' _her logical side intoned.

"Oh shut up," she muttered to herself.

"Which side are you arguing with, rational or emotional?" Grissom asked her quietly.

Sara shot him a dark look as they continued towards the restaurant. "Both," she replied.

He waited a moment before politely saying, "When you're done with them, would you like to grab some breakfast with me back at the Sterling Inn?"

Sara froze and Grissom strode forward about three paces before stopping himself. He had that cute little smug grin on his face and the urge to smack it right off was overwhelming.

"You're staying in my Inn."

"It was convenient."

"Figures."

She started walking again, and she felt the heat of his eyes on her body.

"Well?" he asked.

"I don't suppose you'd take 'no' for an answer."

He comically pretended to think about that for a few seconds before he unleashed that heated blue gaze onto her again; the one that turned her insides to pudding. "No, I don't think so."

Smug bastard.

They'd reached the parking lot and Sara walked towards her car, noting the only other vehicle around was a black Cadillac Escalade.

"Is that yours?"

"Yup, it's a rental. Would you like to drive it back? I can take your car…" He pulled the key out of his pocket and dangled it in the air.

Damn him again, for renting an awesome car and then offering to let her drive it. Damn herself for being such a sucker for expensive vehicles. _Sara grinned as they walked to the SUV_.

_... continued next chapter ->_

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A/N:** Word limit? What word limit? 


	9. August 25th 2005

**Disclaimer:** Nothing is mine. I own nothing.

**Rating, Beta Props, etc.** – See Chapter 1.

**A/N: **I do apologize for the delay. It is difficult to write when the standards of our society have been twisted to provide warped rationalizations, and innocent people are dying due to a lack of motivation on the part of our government. But wallowing in self-pity does not solve anything, so I've accepted to do what I can, and to return to writing, as in a way – I provide a service to you folks out there. Like Sara and her singing, reading fanfic is a temporary distraction from the harshness of reality. So is writing it.

First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says 1,877 words.

_

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The resonating thud of the gavel was felt more than heard_, and the air of satisfaction, of justice being served, echoed after it. But for Warrick, the resolution of yet another senseless death didn't matter right now. His mind was a million miles away; so lost in its thoughts that even his conscious self couldn't fathom what he was pondering. 

Brass's elbow prodded into Warrick's ribcage, jarring him back into reality. "Psst, 'Rick. Wake up. Case closed."

"I'm awake."

Jim Brass clapped a friendly hand on Warrick's back. "You did good with this case. Good work."

"Yeah, thanks," Warrick said, trying to sound sincere but his words came out flat, dead-sounding.

Brass stiffened at his tone and Warrick sighed in frustration. "Sorry. I've just got a lot on my mind right now." The older man studied him, and his expression softened as the imaginary light bulb blinked on above his head. "Sara," Brass murmured. The two shared a silent understanding for a moment, until the crowd exiting the courtroom drove it away. They each went their separate ways once outside, but the moment was not forgotten by either of them.

Warrick's call into court was in the early afternoon, and now, four hours later, Warrick found himself again on another Thursday night with nothing to do. He headed towards home but changed his mind midway and stopped at a small sports bar on the east side of the Strip. He parked around back and removed his sport coat and tie, placing them carefully on the back seat.

When he walked inside, he found his buddy Pete engrossed in a game of pool off on the far right. With a nod to his friend, Warrick settled himself at the bar, and Ryan, the bartender, dropped off a bottle of Heineken in front of him without a backwards glance. Warrick smiled wryly to himself. They all knew him too well here.

As he scowled and sipped at his beer, his mind continued on the path it had started three days ago at breakfast with the rest of the gang. Sara. Grissom. Sara and Grissom together. Warrick felt lost, and extremely confused. Imagining Sara with Grissom made him very, very angry. The real question was 'Why?' Did he see himself with Sara? Was he jealous? He couldn't say, and his lack of understanding himself was frustrating the hell out of him.

Was he in love with Sara? Was that it? Part of him cried '_Yes!_' but when he pictured them as a couple, holding hands or even kissing her, a strange sense of unease came over him. Yeah, so she was attractive. He wasn't oblivious to that. Yeah, her voice dripped sensuality when she was on stage. But that wasn't it. This wasn't about sex. This was about something more, and damned if he couldn't put his finger on it.

"So, my man, what's with the threads?"

Warrick jumped slightly, startled by his friend's arrival. Prodigal Pete - who walks on little cat feet. The guy should have been a burglar, not a disc jockey.

"Came from court. Anderson murder."

"Did the judge throw the book at 'em?" Pete asked eagerly. The Anderson murder was high profile in the black community, as Rupert Anderson had been attacked outside of his home by a group of white teenagers. Rupert Anderson was seventy-four years old, and the punks had kicked and beaten the poor black man when he wouldn't hand over his wallet. Warrick had processed the scene and found the discarded wallet in the hedge along Mr. Anderson's property. Smudged with blood on the outside, it held fifteen dollars in cash, an expired drivers license, an expired Sears card, and a photograph of him and his deceased wife on their wedding day. The poor guy didn't have a penny, and these prejudiced white trash punks had killed him over fifteen bucks that they didn't even take. It was the partial fingerprint in blood on the back of the wallet that had brought in one of the kids, and he had squealed like a pig about his cohorts.

"For the most part," Warrick replied. "They've all been found guilty. First-degree. It's what the prosecution was going for."

"I hope they fuckin' fry."

"Won't know until a month from now, at sentencing."

"So, you celebrating?" Pete asked. "Doesn't look it."

Warrick shrugged and took another scowl-forming sip from his beer. Damn shit is always so bitter.

Pete plopped himself on the bar stool next to Warrick. "This is about our songbird, isn't it," he said, his eyes dark with seriousness. Warrick didn't respond.

"You said she was coming back next week. What, that change?"

"No… I don't know." Another sip, another scowl.

"You piss her off or something?"

Warrick sniffed in bemused humor. "Haven't heard from her."

Pete's eyes went wide. "Holy fuck, you're not hot on her or something, are ya?"

This produced deep frown lines across Warrick's brow, and a dark expression on his face. He took a much larger swig of Heineken before answering, "Dunno."

"What about the blonde?"

Warrick sighed, thinking of Catherine. He did care for her. He _longed_ for her. She was so wild and vivid and he just knew she'd be hell in the sack. And she was smart. And she was grounded. She knew Vegas like he did. She wasn't one of those brain-busting scientists like Grissom and Sara. She was like him, and she was just…

"Yoo-hoo," Pete sang, waving his hand in front of Warrick's face, "Anybody home?" Warrick snatched it with a fierce grip, and Pete's comical expression went to one of mild fear. He jerked his hand out of Warrick's grasp and stared at him harshly in defense.

As quickly as the tension between them developed, it passed. Warrick started idly picking at the label on the bottle, periodically drinking from the second that Ryan, the Stealth Bartender, had placed in front of him.

"So what is it," Pete asked flatly. "You're here, not home. So talk."

"My boss left town. Word is he's chasing after Sara."

"For what? Skipping work?"

"No," Warrick spat. "Because he wants her."

There was a pause before Pete said knowingly, "Like you want the blonde."

"Yeah."

"You all need to get out more," Pete chuckled to himself before studying Warrick again. "So, why the big deal if he does?"

"Dammit, it makes me want to pound his damned bearded face into a pulp. He called her a whore at work – because of her singing with us. Said she was nothing more than a two-bit whore."

Pete's knuckles grew pale as he gripped his Corona. "Don't think I like this guy much either."

"The thought of them together… man, it just sets me off." And with that, Warrick slammed the empty bottle against the wooden counter of the bar. Ryan gave him a questioning look, and Pete's face voiced his surprise. Warrick let out a massive sigh and stared off into the corner, not wanting to face the gazes of his friends.

"So what?" Pete said after a few moments passed. "It should. I'm not too happy to hear about this dickwad rippin' on our girl and then boffing her two minutes later, either. She deserves better than that."

"Of course she does," Warrick replied earnestly. "But it ain't my business what she does with her life like that." Bitterness coated his voice. "She ain't my lady. What right do I have to give a shit, you know?"

"Because man, she's your friend. You, like, want what's best for her and all that crap. Love her like a sister and all. You know," Pete was waving his hand haphazardly in his attempt to make his point, "emotional shit like that. _Caring_ about her."

Was that it? Was she like a sister, a sibling? Like _family_? Warrick didn't know much about brothers and sisters; he'd grown up alone. And his grandma didn't take no bullcrap from nobody, so there weren't a lot of huggy-kissy moments from her in his childhood.

Warrick's expression must have changed, because Pete was staring at him curiously. "What?" Pete asked. "You never have a girl friend? Like, a girl that was just a friend?"

Warrick gave a half-shrug in moderate admission. It was true; he'd never really known a girl as only a friend.

Pete was staring at him, rather goggle-eyed. "You dog! All those bitches we've partied with. You weren't just friends with any of them? You nailed them all?"

Warrick's wide grin was his only reply.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The following night, Warrick walked into the lab with a light heart and a spring in his step. His world made sense to him again. The thought of Sara and Grissom together still didn't sit well with him, but at least he understood the reason why. _Sister. She is my friend – like a sister._ And he loved her. Somehow realizing the emotion for what it was set Warrick's mind at peace. This explained why he missed her, why he growled at the mere thought of Grissom, and why he didn't want her hurt. Nick's over-protectiveness of Sara in the past now made a lot more sense. _We're her family_. _Family._

Labels were useful. Sara was a friend. Catherine was more than that. He caught her muttering darkly to herself in Grissom's office as he walked by, and he strode confidently through the doorway and stood nearby, glancing at the papers in front of her.

"He left you with a load of bullshit paperwork again, didn't he?"

Catherine sighed heavily, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, and understanding his handwriting and figuring out what he wants to do with all of this shit is making my head spin."

Warrick rested his hands along her shoulders, noticing the coolness of her skin against his. She tensed slightly at his touch, but then began to relax as he moved his thumbs against her neck. A soft moan came from her throat as he massaged her neck and shoulders.

"This okay?" he asked softly.

"Mmmm… fine…" she purred.

He leaned in close to her ear, the light scent of her shampoo filling his mind as he continued his ministrations. "How 'bout this? I'm here to serve; feel free to _tell me how you like it._"

_... continued next chapter ->_

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A/N:** So that was very Warrick-centric. I missed him – and really, this fic is as much about him and Sara as it is about GSR. And a little Yo!Bling is always nice. 


	10. September 1 2005

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine.

**Rating, Beta Props, etc.** – See Chapter 1.

**A/N:** Writing is therapeutic. I should write more often. A million thank yous to those who continue to read and review this fic!

First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says 1,619 words.

* * *

"_Who ordered this?" Grissom asked irately._ A large bouquet of balloons was resting on the four-poster bed in his room. The theme seemed to be rather risqué, considering the condoms, and Grissom's scowl was deep with embarrassment. He turned to her, "Sara, this isn't what it… I didn't…" He strode over to the old fashioned white telephone and pushed a small button installed on the side. "Yes, I believe there has been a serious mistake. There are balloons in my room… I did not order them, and I would like them removed… as soon as possible." As an afterthought he added, "Please." 

Sara tried very hard to hide her amusement. They had just finished breakfast, and Grissom had quite bluntly indicated that he'd like for her to join him in his room. She suspected he wanted to continue with where they'd left off under the pavilion, but she wasn't about to allow any more of that. It seemed like fate had decided to squelch his plans without Sara having to say a word. Thank God for small favors.

She was surprised at his seemingly instantaneous change of heart. Perhaps he had done some soul searching as well these past three weeks. His confidence was apparent, yet there were hints of insecurity and impatience. It was endearing yet disconcerting; the Grissom she knew was reserved and kept his emotions well hidden. Grissom did not … pursue women. Yet here he was, and damned if he didn't come across like a rutting stallion on the scent of mare. He was suave during breakfast, making polite conversation while 'accidentally' bumping his leg against hers or grazing his fingertips across the top of her hand. This was not at all like the Grissom she knew. She pushed her doubts towards the back of her mind and attempted to focus on the situation at hand – abandoning Grissom without hurting his feelings. She was exhausted, and she needed to pee.

"Gil," she said simply, commanding his immediate attention, "why don't we get some rest and meet tonight downstairs for dinner? I think the last seating is at 8:30."

Grissom was crestfallen as he bitterly murmured, "If that's what you want…"

"Yeah, it is. Look, we can talk tonight, okay? And breakfast was fine, really. And I loved driving the car. So it's okay, all right? I just want to get some sleep. It's been a long night." Annoyance was flickering in the back of her mind now. Why should she have to reassure him? He hadn't done anything to assuage her feelings at any time during their un-relationship.

Sara gave him a quick smile and a nod as she hightailed it down the hallway to her room. The bitterness she'd felt before returned in earnest. She was not some beast in heat, she was not some lovelorn maiden, she was not about to jump into his bed just because he had turned on some strange male charm that she never knew he had.

After spending some time in the bathroom, complete with steaming shower and a thorough shaving of her legs, she wrapped herself tightly in the thick pale robe provided and wrapped her hair in one of the soft fluffy towels. Her reflection through the fading fog on the mirror betrayed her.

She was smiling. Unbidden, unabashed and uncommon, but present all the same. _Dammit! Damn damn damn him!_ She trounced into the bedroom and flopped backwards onto her bed in disbelief and disgust. It was official; she was totally pathetic.

"You are totally pathetic," she told the miniscule plaster cracks in the ceiling. "Utterly and completely pathetic. And over a middle-aged socially handicapped _entomologist_ of all things."

But he certainly was an appealing entomologist. And the look in his eyes at breakfast… The little spot deep in her belly fluttered in anticipation. He wanted her, and she knew it.

Sara sat up, shaking her head and dislodging the towel. "No." She would not let lust or pent-up emotions get the best of her this time. Sleeping with Grissom had 'disaster' written all over it. He'd called her a whore. He was controlling and stubborn and surly. And he was either in the throes of an overdose of Viagra or… or what? What _was_ he doing, anyways?

Some time later, a yawn sneaked out, followed by another, and her mind started to succumb to the lack of sleep. She'd over-thought herself into exhaustion. Typical. She snuggled under the light down comforter and buried her face into her pillow. For now, she was sleeping alone, and she planned to keep it that way, no matter what new behaviors Grissom might throw at her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_The lights on her back were warm, bathing her in a hazy glow inside and out. She focused on her three points; the Elvis photo, the bottle of chambourd on the shelf, and the exit sign over the kitchen door. She heard Warrick on her right, and Pete on her left, and she knew she was singing. It was euphoric, as it always was._

_The faces in the crowd were blurred, indistinct. She stood before them, confident and sexy. The faces cheered in approval and barely restrained desire. Suddenly, there was silence. She turned, and Warrick and Pete were gone. An ivy-covered trellis was behind her, and the warmth from the lights faded. She turned towards the audience, her audience, and found herself at the Sailor's Dock._

_The audience was not cheering. They were not applauding. She heard the scrape of wood along the floor as the now-faceless crowd stood in unison. They turned in synchronization, presenting their backs to her as they walked away. _

_Crushing humiliation flooded her. She wasn't good enough. She had poured her soul onto the stage, and it wasn't good enough. _

_She turned towards the right, head held down. With each step, the echo of her footfalls grew louder and louder. The more she walked, the further away the curtain became. She couldn't leave. She couldn't get off the stage. Frustrated, she stopped, but the echoes continued. She raised her head, and a huge stallion reared up in front of her._

_Cowering, she hid behind the chair in Grissom's office. The stallion settled and stepped towards her, snorting aggressively. Its mane was black as night, and the black of its coat was streaked through with gray. It reared again, demanding her surrender with glowing eyes. _

_Grissom appeared in his chair and simply stated "No". The stallion turned and disappeared through the curtain backstage. She watched it trot happily away, and longed to follow. It was free. But she was stuck. She pushed herself, leaping back towards the wall, but found herself sitting across from Grissom, his eyes focused on the papers on his desk. She waited for him to say something, anything; to acknowledge she was here. But he said nothing._

_She stood, yelling, although she wasn't quite clear why she was upset. Still, he didn't stir. Not even to blink, or to breathe. She looked closer, and she understood why he wasn't answering. He wasn't real._

_He was stone, like the angel in the fountain behind the Inn. She blinked, and she saw many more statues of Grissom. Grissom in the interrogation room. Grissom outside of the apartment complex. Grissom smiling at her when she handed him the coffee. Grissom standing scant inches from her, preparing to pin her to the wall._

"_It isn't real." She stared. Had the stone lips moved? Had they spoken to her? She reached out cautiously to the Grissom before her, and at her touch, he shattered. Panicked, she went to each, begging for help from someone, anyone. As she ran towards each one, they crumbled into debris and dust._

"_Your conclusions are invalid, Sara." _

_This was all wrong. That was Grissom! She knew his voice. He was inside one of those statues. She had to get to him. She dug through the debris, digging, digging with her bare hands until they burned. _

"_Reverse, Sara. Reverse." She spun around quickly, her world whirling in shades of black and white. _

_She was on stage again. The lights were warm, and she felt at peace. The tattered red curtain was nearby; she could finally leave. She needed to leave. The warmth grew, and she turned to face it. The light was bright, and as it faded, she made out the shape of a man in the shadows._

_Grissom. The man walked forward, and she couldn't tell if it was Grissom or not._

"_Are you ready to go?" the man asked her softly, placing a warm hand on the small of her back like Grissom would, if it was Grissom. Was it Grissom? She wasn't sure._

"_Go where?" she asked. Her voice sounded melodic, rich. Was that really her voice?_

_The man smiled brightly, bathing her in warmth. "Forward. We need to go forward." He stepped ahead of her, eager, excited. "C'mon Sara. You need to put it behind you."_

"_I don't want to go," she said, surprising herself. "I don't know where that is."_

"_It's okay, honey," the man who was or was not Grissom murmured to her. "You can do it. And remember," he said while walking away, fading away, laughing at her, "_the last one there is a rotten egg!_"_

_... continued next chapter ->_

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A/N**: Okay so that was weird, I know. But I couldn't think of a better way to incorporate that line… my apologies. Next chapter should be better, I hope. Thanks to my two betas and for all you readers for reading this! 


	11. September 9 2005

**Disclaimer:** I'd like to think that everything revolves around me, but I've been told that everything revolves around some guy named Steve who lives in Arkansas. Go figure.

**Rating, Beta Props, etc.** – See Chapter 1. Do remember this takes place in early Season 5. Season 6 is fantasy as far as this fic is concerned.

**A/N:** I do apologize for the delay everyone! There was a slight shortage of lines, and I need the following week's lines in order to lay out where this week's will go with the story. (In other words – I'm trying not to write myself into a corner too much.) Plus, I am back working on the neglected _Equilibrium_.

First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says … oops… 2,082 words.

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"_Go ahead and quote someone – I know you want to."_ Sara smiled softly at him from the rim of her wine glass. 

Grissom choked a little on his own wine, setting the glass down quickly and reaching into his lap for his tailored napkin.

"Sorry," Sara murmured, suppressing her laughter. Grissom had been trying all night to be some intensely romantic… whatever he thought that was; and Sara found his whole routine adorably pathetic. She couldn't help but yank his chain a little, despite her twinge of guilt at the flush of embarrassment crawling up his neck.

"Look," she said seriously, reaching across the small table to rest her hand on his. _Wow, he's warm_. "Look, I don't know what's gotten into you, and I'm not quite sure what any of it means. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want you to morph into something, or someone, that you're not."

He looked at her strangely, and then focused his attention on the empty space in front of him. Their waiter had removed their plates a few moments ago, and they were waiting for their coffee.

Apprehension welled within her; she hadn't meant to offend him. She studied him closely, wondering where the man who was her supervisor left off, and this new Grissom began. Was it all an act for her benefit? If so, why did he feel the need?

Their coffee arrived, and Sara stirred in two creams before sipping it slowly. Grissom drank his black, and his eyes were a million miles away. They were probably on the other side of the chasm of silence between them.

"Well?" she asked him rather pertinently.

Sorrow swam across his face as he murmured softly, "Perhaps you were correct."

Confusion prominent in her words, Sara replied, "Correct about what?"

He shrugged slightly. "This. Us."

"Refresh my memory here, because I'm not sure what you're referring to."

"Perhaps I am too late."

Affronted and in shock, Sara sputtered, "You're not. I just… I'm not sure about this new you. I've never seen you this way before."

"There was a very good reason for that."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

He sighed heavily and stared into his coffee cup. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"No, that's the reason. You wouldn't understand me. Who I am at work is only a part of who I am. Perhaps if I'd approached you earlier, perhaps if we'd talked about this a long time ago, things would be different. Now, when I try to open up to you and be myself, you chastise me for it."

Sara opened her mouth to retort, but he held up his hand to silence her. "No, your apprehension earlier regarding a relationship between us was valid. I didn't want to admit it, but perhaps it is too much for me to ask you to forget. To trust."

"Griss…" She didn't know what to say. Maybe he was right. Maybe she couldn't trust him. "I want to."

"I'm sure. But like I said earlier, just what is it that you want me to be? Clearly, _this_," he said, spreading his arms wide in presentation, "is not it."

"That's entirely unfair and untrue. You can't just go and do this morph into some romantic studboy and expect me not to be surprised."

"I did expect you to be surprised. I also expected you to be pleased. Or impressed. Or something." He was obviously frustrated, and his voice was rising. "Not critical and patronizing." He rose suddenly, and placed his napkin next to his coffee cup. "I'll take care of the bill with the front desk. I think its best we end this conversation now before it escalates. Perhaps we can talk again when you return to Vegas."

Sara gaped at him, her heart crumbling slowly at the realization that she just blew it between them. What was with him? He went from hot to cold in seconds. And then it hit her, hard. He was insecure. Well, not quite insecure. Unsure, maybe, and nervous. He'd taken a chance in coming here and he'd taken a bigger chance in openly expressing how he felt about her. She didn't question his feelings now. However, maybe he questioned hers. He'd taken a risk, and she'd teased him for it. She'd done so this morning as well.

He looked at her longingly, like a kid in front of the window of Saks on 5th Avenue, staring at some amazing Christmas toy he knew he couldn't have. And then he turned and walked away.

"Grissom," she said quietly, "wait." But he didn't; he kept walking, out of the small dining room and out of her sight.

_Dammit!_ She stood up quickly, her own napkin forgotten as it fell to the floor. Within minutes she was knocking on the door to Grissom's room. He opened it slowly, mid-knock. Her fist froze and hung dumbly in the air as she stared past him into the room. His suitcase was spread open on his bed.

"You're leaving."

"I see no reason to stay, Sara."

"I see. I suppose it is best then. It wouldn't have worked between us if you'd bailed at the first sign of any problems. I need a man with a bit more… stamina." She held her head high, her tone defiant. She'd be damned if she'd let this man get the upper hand on her.

An eyebrow shot up and his eyes narrowed at the thinly veiled insult. "It's a shame you didn't have the patience to find out how much stamina I do have."

"I'm not the one packing his bags and heading for the hills, now am I?" she sneered.

"Where exactly are we again?" He looked around the room dramatically. "Doesn't look like we're in Vegas anymore, Toto."

"I came here to get away… from you… from everything. You're the one who followed _me_ here. I didn't invite you, that's for sure!"

That silenced him for a moment, but the anger and hurt still flashed in his eyes. She saw it clearly; and it fueled her next words. "I've never been the one who was unwilling to try. And apparently you were willing to try too. I don't know exactly what I did in the past twelve hours to change that, but all it says to me is that you really don't want to try at all." She looked away from him then, not wanting to see if her words ran true in his eyes.

He stepped towards her slowly. "That's not true. I do want to try." She felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. "But it doesn't seem like you are ready to let me."

She turned to him, the dark emotions startling her slightly. "I can't switch gears that quickly, Gil. To me, it seemed like you thought that we'd just sleep together and then everything would be okay. That's very romantic, but not very realistic. You can't tell me that's not what you were thinking this morning, because I know you were. And even that is completely overwhelming to me."

He pondered that for a moment before lifting his hand from her shoulder to behind her neck. _God, his hand is like fire._ Okay, she would not swoon. No swooning here.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "You need time. I understand." Although he didn't sound very understanding… he sounded hurt.

She met his gaze. "What do you need?"

"You."

"And you're sure of that?"

"Yes."

And another freight train of realization plowed into her. This wasn't up to him anymore, hence his insecurity. It was her decision, and he knew it. She pulled away from him and made her way slowly to the bed. She needed to sit before her legs gave out from under her. "When you make up your mind about something, you sure go all the way, don't you?"

He stood where she left him, intensely serious. "I can't afford not to."

"I must exasperate the hell outta you," she sighed.

He walked towards her, stopping inches in front of her. "You do." His voice took on that husky quality again, and Sara's tummy did its flip-flop from earlier.

"I'll bet I know exactly what you'd like to do about that too."

His hand reached for her, his knuckles grazing the side of her cheek. "You probably aren't far off."

She looked up at him. "But if I said no, you'd stop."

He withdrew his hand. "I would."

"And you'd wait?" she asked apprehensively, almost a whisper, "Until I said yes?"

"I would."

_Wow._ The decision was hers. "What would you do if I said yes now?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Nick smiled to himself as he ran his finger across the brim. His cousin and her friend were coming into town for a visit, and he was scheduled to pick them up at the airport around 9 a.m. tomorrow morning.

He had brought a change of clothes as well as his old hat. Las Vegas wasn't his old hometown by any stretch, so he'd retired his Texas style when he'd relocated here. Many good memories were contained in that hat; it felt good to bring it out again. Although is primary reason was one more practical – he was afraid that Luann wouldn't recognize him without it.

Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Nick stuffed his hat carefully back into his locker. But he was too slow, and Catherine caught sight of the gray brim.

"What's that?" she asked. "Planning on a hoedown in the trace lab? Maybe some square-dancing in the kitchen?" She smiled generously, clearly teasing.

"I thought the place could use some excitement, Catherine. It's been dreadfully dull around here. Willing to two-step with me?" He rose and reached for her, maneuvering her into position and starting a slow waltz by the windows. Catherine was speechless as he led her around.

"Yo. What's this?" Warrick's voice was cautious, serious, as he walked into the locker room.

Embarrassment crept up Catherine's face as Nick laughed and twirled her around, ending in a modest dip. "We're dancing, man. Catherine wants to square dance in the kitchen. Lighten it up around here a little. You can partner up with Greggo."

Warrick raised an eyebrow at that as the blush on Catherine's face deepened. "I was only teasing him," she spat, extracting herself from Nick's embrace. "He's the one who felt the need to spin me around like a top."

"Aw c'mon – you liked it," Nick drawled. His laughter trailed off as he noticed Warrick's intense stare.

"In your dreams, cowboy," Catherine said with a scowl.

Nick made kissy noises at her as Catherine focused her attention on a confused Warrick. "He's got a genuine ten gallon cowboy hat in his locker." Warrick's expression faded into one of amusement. "Really? Lemme see."

Now it was Nick's turn to scowl. "I'm picking up my cousin after work at the airport. She and her friend are visiting from Texas, and I'm going to show them around."

"And you need a hat for that?" Warrick asked.

"Yeah, I do."

Warrick and Catherine looked at each other and then burst into a fit of giggles. Nick muttered bitterly to himself, "Next time leave it in your car. Just leave it in your car." He took his hat out with dignity, and placed it purposely on his head. "I happen to like this hat. You're both just jealous you can't look this good in my hat," he stated.

They turned to look at him again, and a new round of hysterics started. Catherine sputtered, "I don't think we'd want to."

"Oh yeah? Give it a try." _Nick tossed his cowboy hat at her, effectively shutting her up._

… _continued next chapter ->_


	12. September 23 2005

**Disclaimer:** Ask my dog. He thinks he owns the whole damn house.

**Rating, Beta Props, etc.** – See Chapter 1. Many, many thanks to Cybrokat and Jennie because I haven't mentioned them in a while. I adore my betas.

**A/N:** I'd like to thank all of my readers and reviewers. Really. I ain't writing this for my health – it's for you readers and I love it when you leave a review! Even if you think it sucks – I still want to hear your opinion. I _love_ opinions. (Ask Jennie!)

Oh, and watch out for that huge pile of fluff over there. I think some of it has drifted into this fic, and it's damn hard to get out. Sticky stuff, that fluff. Sorry about that!

First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says 3,028 words. Wow - word limits are obviously not my thing!

* * *

"_Crazy? I was crazy once."_ Grissom smiled at her softly, reaching out two fingers to gently lift her bangs out of her eyes. 

Sara blushed slightly and turned away from his gaze. Her assumptions about him were right on the money; he was incredibly intense. "That's not exactly what I meant, but you won't hear me disagreeing." They sat side by side on the bench behind the Inn, doing nothing more than watching the clouds cross the pale sky as they talked of nothing and everything at all. It was the last day of Sara's scheduled vacation, and a week after she'd allowed Grissom into her bed.

Well, sort of. Technically, he had allowed her into his bed; she'd moved her things into his room at his request. And he hadn't pressed her further, in a physical sense, than she was willing to go. How he knew her limits was indeed a mystery, and although they'd pretty much explored every millimeter of each other's bodies, they hadn't actually done the deed… yet.

When he suggested they extend their stay through this week, Sara had agreed, albeit hesitantly. Her uncertainty disappeared around Tuesday afternoon, when he'd grinned at her like a total goofball before ditching his sneakers and socks and running like a madman into the bay. He was in up to his knees before he turned to her and waved.

"What?" she'd hollered from beneath a shade tree, their picnic lunch abandoned off to her left.

"Hi!" he called.

Sara's eyebrows rose in question as she responded, "Hi yourself!"

He plodded his way through the water, searching methodically for stones and shells and other items that intrigued him before eventually emerging. Gritty sand covered his feet as he returned to the blanket. He lowered himself slowly, taking care not to dirty the blanket as he shifted his weight closer to her. He deposited his findings next to her, shaking them dry. Sara couldn't take her eyes from him; she was dumbfounded. "What was that all about?"

"Beach scavenging, it was fun," he said, brushing the sand from his toes. "You should try it sometime."

"Fun."

"Yes, Sara," he said, cupping his hand along her cheek, his fingers slightly scratchy from the bits of sand still attached. "Fun - as in, not serious or morbid or dramatic or depressing. As in…" He paused for a moment before murmuring, "happy."

"Wow. There is another you, isn't there?"

"He's fun. He's intriguing. He likes to tickle helpless and confused women who are stuck in a world where everything has to have _meaning._" And he wiggled his fingers at her in false threat.

Sara giggled; it was the fingers that did it. And watching his face light up at her smile made her realize that although she did love the man that was her supervisor, she would enjoy learning about this new man who hid behind that man she loved. Her smile broadened, and his did as well. They collapsed together, him tickling her fiendishly and her squealing in protest. The tickling progressed to something a little more interesting, and they'd spent the remainder of the afternoon and half the night indoors, intertwined in the trappings of his bed. It was a good thing that the Sterling Inn had room service or else they would have starved to death.

Despite the enjoyable times spent beneath the linen sheets, there were more significant ones spent along the grounds of the Inn and within the town. They talked, finally, about each other and their expectations. He'd told her about his parents, his mother and her deafness, his father and his philandering and abandonment. He told her about his younger days, and the relationship with a woman named Lucille that shattered his heart. She'd told him about her mother, and where she was living now. It took a while for her to tell him about her father, and her brother, and he'd held her the entire time while she sobbed.

They talked of the lab, of their co-workers, and of the cases from their pasts. Neither mentioned Hank, or the bad times between them. They reminisced about when they'd met and how bizarre it was that they'd kept in touch. "The fickle hand of fate apparently cannot be denied," he had said as he squeezed her hand gently as they walked along the shoreline. She had silently agreed, and had marveled at how easy it was to just go with the flow.

They spent quite some time saying nothing at all, just relishing in the closeness of another human being. Sara feared it would be too much for him, they were together twenty-four hours a day, but he seemed comfortable with her presence in all situations. It was new for her as well, this constant companion, but she found she enjoyed having him around.

Now, sitting next to him on 'their' bench, knowing that their time together was coming to an end, concerns about their return to Vegas fluttered to the forefront of her mind.

"Gil," she said softly, "what happens when we go home?"

He ran his fingers softly against her cheek. "You're worried. Don't be honey, it'll work out."

She decided to bring up the one thing they hadn't discussed much at all this week. "I… I want to sing."

He turned away from her, focusing on the sunlight dancing along the tips of the waves in front of him. "I know. I'll sign the paperwork for you and Warrick when we return."

She placed her hand gently on his, communicating her concern. "I know you don't approve. If you want me to…"

"No." He placed his other hand atop hers. "It's what you want, and I'll support it."

"Would it help if I toned down the sex kitten act a bit?"

He chuckled softly to himself. "How about only when I'm in the audience?"

She stiffened at that. "You don't plan on attending every Thursday now, do you?"

He turned and faced her with a slight rise to his lips. "Do I make you nervous?"

"You know you do."

He leaned forward and kissed her gently. "My pretty siren. If I can't hear you sing in public, will you sing for me in private?"

"Only if you make me," she said huskily before he deepened their kiss.

"My pleasure," he replied.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He rose slowly, pushing aside his comforter. Odd how lonely his bed seemed without Sara in it. They had flown in last night, giving them each time to sleep through the evening and long into the day. Shift started in two hours. Part of him was expectant, eager. The other part, well that part was quaking in its boots in the far corner of his mind and whimpering.

He stretched with a groan. Mentally, he again reviewed the speech he intended to give his team. It was short, to the point, and provoked no question. If he could get out half without stumbling over his own tongue, it would be a miracle.

Those two hours came quickly, and Grissom found himself standing at the head of the table in their meeting room, the questions on each face clearly visible. He'd glanced at Sara when he'd walked into the room and had seen nothing but support and love in her eyes. It was brief, but it was enough. Taking a deep breath, he began.

"I'll make this brief, as we all have work to do. Sara and I are involved, and neither of us will let it interfere with how we do our jobs. If you have any problems, I suggest you address them with me, with us, right here and now."

Sara was subtle in her surprise; perhaps she hadn't expected him to be so direct. Catherine's expression wore more humor than astonishment, which wasn't unexpected. Catherine could read him well; she had always known. He met her gaze calmly, and he could have sworn she was holding back an atta-boy wink of approval.

Nick and Greg were more focused on Sara, both wearing twin expressions of concern and mild disbelief. The question of "Are you okay?" was threatening to fall from either of the young men's lips. Sara gave a subtle nod in response, causing both men to lean back against their chairs in mutual acceptance. Greg's grin, however, appeared much more sincere than the half-grimace attached to Mr. Stokes. Greg's acceptance surprised Grissom; he expected more of a flicker of disappointment and rejection. It was touching, in a way. Greg put Sara's happiness first.

Unfortunately, the cat's-eye green of Warrick Brown's stare was neither surprised, nor cheerful, nor full of atta-boys towards Grissom. The panther from before had reemerged, and he was not a happy kitty. Warrick stood and left the room without a word.

Sara's face fell as she turned to Grissom, distraught. He tried to convey the sympathy and support in his silent reply. Catherine's eyes didn't leave Warrick's back as he continued down the corridor, his destination unknown. With a soft sigh, she spoke to the remaining members of their small family.

"This is going to be difficult for him," she said, focusing her attention more on Sara. "We discussed it… and I would recommend you both speak with him separately. And give him time."

Grissom raised an eyebrow at the unspoken question crossing the gap between him and the third chair in from the left. Catherine knew his look and shifted her hazel eyes towards the table and then the ceiling, basically anywhere but at him. _Well, that answers that question, and I owe Jim twenty bucks. Damn. _

He returned his focus to the most important person in the room, his Sara. She was fighting back the tears; he knew that look well. It was time to move this along before things got any worse for her.

"So, anyone else have anything they'd like to share? No? Then we get back to work. Catherine, you have the arson on Lafayette. Sara, you go with Nick to help with his missing persons case. I'll have you both know that there were quite a few messages on my voicemail regarding that, so the sooner you can wrap it up, the better. Greg, you're with me. We have a partially buried body to exhume." He ended his words with a grin. Exhumations were always intriguing.

Greg didn't look nearly as excited as Grissom did, but he was complacent and followed Grissom down the hallway as they all dispersed.

Halfway through their processing of the scene, Greg finally asked The Question. "So, are you going to let her and Warrick sing again? Well, assuming that Warrick gets over the fact that you and she are slee… uh, together now."

Grissom chose to ignore Greg's slip of the tongue. His physical relationship with Sara was private, and it would remain that way, no matter what rumors flew or what questions were asked. "I won't stop her from doing what she wants, if that answers your question. If she chooses to sing again with Warrick, I won't disallow it."

"Oh," Greg replied, slightly mollified. "Well, that's good, I suppose. It's very important to her you know."

"Yes Greg, I know."

Greg took the hint from Grissom's tone and they continued their work around the skeletal remains in silence.

Once they returned to the lab, Grissom left Greg with Al and began his own search for Warrick. He knew Sara was still out with Nick; their SUV wasn't back in the lot behind the lab. But Warrick's car was in the lot, which meant he was here… somewhere.

He found him in the ballistics room, nose buried in a microscope. He approached cautiously and laid a hand on his protégé's shoulder.

"We should talk."

Warrick didn't move a muscle, and a tense moment passed between them. Finally, he sighed and green met blue in an unstable truce.

"Alright," Warrick growled softly, stepping away from the scope and standing to face Grissom, "Talk."

"I was wrong. I've been wrong for a while, about a lot of things. And I apologize for that. But she needs you, and I hope that you can take that into consideration before you shut her out of your life."

"I'm not shutting her out. It isn't her that's that problem."

"Then tell me. Tell me how I'm the problem and I'll fix it."

Warrick studied him for a moment, his tense expression wavering.

"I want her to be happy," Grissom said intently. "You know that."

"Can I trust you?" Warrick's voice was thick, heavy with emotion. "Can I trust you not to hurt her? Again?"

"She does."

Warrick scoffed, "She's running blind, basing her decisions on faith and dreams that she wants to come true. What are you gonna do when things get tough? What are your plans when she's hell on earth and making your life hell too? You gonna leave her in the dust, like you've done before?"

Grissom kept his temper in check, although the hostility coming from Warrick was fierce. "What do you want me to say? I can't predict the future. I can only live in the now. And right now, I have no plans of leaving her side, no matter what life may throw at us."

Warrick wasn't placated. "Sounds a little lame. Cowardly."

"What do you want from me, Warrick? I have no idea what will happen - today, tomorrow, ten years from now. If you want me to tell you I love her then consider it said. I love her. More than anything." Grissom was direct, his features intense. "But you've already known that."

Warrick's demeanor shifted. "Maybe. But hearing it helps. She needs people, you know. More than most do. She needs me as her friend, and I'll be damned if I'm not gonna be there for her. So as her friend, you should keep in mind that I'm watching out for her."

"I understand."

"You should keep in mind that I will protect her."

"I'm sure you will."

"I trusted you once. I believe deep down you do right by people. You did right by me before, and I haven't forgotten that. Not by a longshot. So," Warrick said with a shrug, "I guess I can take a chance on you, like you did on me."

Grissom nodded and both men left the room and headed towards the kitchen. Conrad Ecklie stopped them midway, right in front of the DNA lab.

"Hello there, Gil, War-rick," Ecklie purred with a smile. "Off to find Miss Sidle? She's in the kitchen." He stepped aside to let the two men pass. As they walked away, Ecklie called, "I'm surprised you both are willing to share her, but hey, whatever floats your boat and all…"

Grissom froze, Warrick at his side. Both men turned slowly as Grissom politely asked, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Conrad stated clearly as he raised his head in superiority.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Warrick said as he stepped closer to the dayshift supervisor, "but I thought I heard you say that Grissom and I were 'sharing' Sara Sidle. And I don't think I cared for what you implied." Grissom followed Warrick, mere inches between them, and the two men closed in on the still confident Ecklie.

"I did," he replied. "And I'll say it again. I find it humorous and intriguing that such different men can A) Find Miss Sidle attractive and B) Be willing to share her. Do you switch off, like every other day or something?" Ecklie chuckled to himself as he rolled his eyes dramatically.

Grissom glanced at Warrick for approximately one millisecond before both men grabbed Ecklie by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall.

"Do not insult her name or character in _my_ lab. Are we clear, Conrad?" Grissom hissed out his words in a harsh whisper.

"And do not assume what you do not know," Warrick growled, tightening his grip. "Sara is my friend, and I won't tolerate you talking trash about her."

Ecklie was visibly shaken, and in his attempts to retain some shred of dignity, he sputtered, "Wow, that's very impressive, from both of you. Such defensiveness. I see the rumor is true. I'll have to ask her if she plans on picking between the two of you sometime, or if the nightshift is just going to turn into one big orgy. I'm sure that Sheriff Atwater would be …"

Two fists silenced him in synchronized tandem. The force sent Conrad's head slamming into the wall with a hard thud. Grissom and Warrick watched as the pale gray eyes rolled up towards the balding head while Ecklie's scrawny body slid to the floor.

Grissom raised an eyebrow at Warrick, surprised that he too had responded in the same manner at exactly the same time.

Warrick responded with a half-shrug. "Great minds think alike?"

"Works for me."

"Think we'll get suspended?"

Grissom echoed the half-shrug. "Maybe." He thought a moment before continuing with, "Probably."

"Worth it, though."

"Absolutely."

Grissom followed Warrick down the hall towards the kitchen. In the distance he heard that annoying lab tech, what's-his-name… Hodges… let out a yelp and hollered, "Omigod! Mr. Ecklie, sir, are you okay? Omigod! Help! Quick! Anyone! I need help! _What's the number for 911?"_

_... continued next chapter ->_


	13. October 5th 2005

**Disclaimer:** The characters from CSI described throughout this fic belong to CBS, Alliance Entertainment, and stuffy executives that are not me. The storyline and all original dialogue do belong to me, and if I see this popping up someplace else, I'll hunt you down and bite you. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

**Rating, Beta Props, etc.** – See Chapter 1. Thank you Cybrokat (who completely rocks socks) and Jennie!

**A/N:** Well, this is it, the last chapter. There is one more set of lines out there, but I've chosen not to use them in this fic. I may use them for something else. :) Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing! I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

And wow, this chapter is a big bowl of Corn Flakes and Marshmallows, topped with a whole box of Cracker Jacks and some Cheez Doodles. Yeesh. Fluff-city.

First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says 3,460 words. Thank God for no more word limits! I'm not so good with them, huh?

* * *

"_So you were in a frat."_ Sara smiled softly at her second employer as he scoffed and corrected her. 

"Brotherhood, m'dear. Brotherhood. It was the fifties, and things weren't nearly like they are today." As Samuel Clemson continued his reminiscing, Sara's mind wandered, but only slightly.

Samuel Clemson had been thrilled to see her when she knocked on his office door. She expected a huge bear hug from the sometimes cantankerous black man, but he had surprised her with his reserve. He had grasped her hand firmly in salutation and led her to the bar. It was there that she sat now, two hours later, her ass slightly numb.

But it was worth the minor discomfort to listen to the man speak of his past, of his present and of his family. The fact that he was married with three children to boot surprised Sara. She had always assumed Sam was a loner; his lifelong link his club and his Marlboro's. It seemed her instincts on men needed an overhaul.

She blinked, focusing back on Sam's oration about the deep South and how different it was from here in Vegas. She placed her hand softly on his, ceasing his ramblings.

"Sam, can we continue this another time?"

"Oh, oh, of course, Miss Sara. I… tend to get caught up in my own memories sometimes." There was a sorrow in his voice, the sorrow of age and wisdom and pain, and for a moment, Sara could almost see the younger version of the man before her as he struggled through those difficult times.

"That's okay," she said with reassurance. "I love hearing about it and I would stay to listen to your stories all afternoon, but I need to head over to Warrick's and talk with him about starting up again next week."

"He hasn't been in since you left. Neither has Pete, which is surprising for that one. I'll be glad to see you reunited again on my stage."

"I'm sure your customers will be pleased as well. Along with your bank account." Sara winced at her own words; she probably shouldn't bring up how much money he had lost during her little road trip.

"My bank account has nothing to do with it, although I won't complain to see it bustin' at the seams again." He turned his dark eyes towards hers. "It is an honor to have you perform under my roof. A treat and a pleasure, so don't you think otherwise, y'hear?"

Sara nodded uncomfortably as she stood. "I'll see you next Thursday then."

"Until then, Miss Sara. Oh! Have you come up with a name for you folks yet?"

"I need to talk to the guys about it, but I've come up with one that I think we'll all agree on."

"It is?"

"T.O.E."

"Toe?"

"Nope, tee oh eee."

Clemson gave a slight shake of his head. "Okay. Does it stand for something?"

"Yeah, but I'm not going to tell you what." She winked boldly at him as she walked through the door, hearing his rough coughs of laughter as she left.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The knocking was soft, but firm. This must be Sara. Warrick checked the clock on his microwave. She was two hours later than he'd expected, but still close enough to fall within his range. He owed himself a double-double animal style over at In-n-Out. With fries.

He opened the door slowly, wary of the conversation ahead of him. He still disagreed with her relationship with Grissom, but he accepted the fact that he had little say in the matter. Sara and Grissom would do whatever they damned well pleased, and if it made them happy to be in a relationship together, then so be it. Warrick swore he could see the forest for the trees on this one, and he worried that Sara wouldn't recover when they finally split. Although, it was possible that Grissom would be the one who wouldn't recover.

Or - they could just run off into the sunset together and elope. God, Baby Grissoms was something that Warrick was _not_ ready to consider at this moment.

As anticipated, Sara stood in his doorway. The chocolate chip cookies, however, were unexpected.

"For you," she said simply, passing them to him in a mock-formal manner. "May I come in?"

Warrick half-grinned as he asked, "What are these for?"

"Can't a girl make cookies for her friend?"

He blinked. "You made these?"

Sara smiled sweetly, but it only lasted a second before she broke into a half-bark of laughter. "I would say 'yes' and impress the hell out of you, but I can't lie. I bought them over at Thompson's Bakery on 12th street. They're… well, they're a bribe. And a thank you for standing up for me to that shithead Ecklie and losing a week's pay for it. I wish I could have seen it."

"Well thank you and you're welcome, and… why do I need a bribe?"

"I was over at _The Black Velvet _today. I spoke with Sam, and he'd like us back if we want to. I told him I couldn't guarantee anything until I talked with you and Pete… but we're scheduled for next Thursday night."

Warrick scowled slightly. "Sara…"

"I know that we didn't exactly leave things on good terms, and I know you're not happy about me and Grissom, War, but…"

Warrick cut her off by resting his hands on her shoulders softly. "Sara. Look. I'm not upset with you. Far from it. I…" He paused, wanting to choose his words carefully. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"I don't want to get hurt, either." Her voice was quiet, small and soft. God, sometimes she was just so fragile it ripped right through him.

He pulled her close in an embrace almost instinctively. "I was angry, and I'm sorry. It isn't fair of me to make decisions for you, but I care about you. You're my friend."

Tears dripped slowly down her face as she leaned her head against his chest. "I was so afraid you'd still be mad. That I'd have to choose. That we couldn't perform together anymore. That about killed me, you know? And then Gil, well he told me about what you both did. And I thought that maybe you'd be okay with it, with us."

He rubbed her shoulder softly while she spoke. "I'm okay with it," he said.

"Yeah but I didn't know, and really I understand why you wouldn't approve. I mean, it isn't like he's been a saint about all this… but …"

"I know," he murmured. "He loves you."

"You think so?" she asked.

"I know so, because I do too." She shifted a little in his arms, but he continued quickly with a chuckle. "Babe, I thought about it while you were away, and I realized you're like the sister, like the _family_ I never had. You're just… different to me than any of the other women I've known. See, when I was growing up with my grandmom, it was just me and her. She passed away when I was nineteen, and it's been me and only me ever since."

Warrick continued, "I've had my share of women companions. Now, don't you laugh, because this isn't like that, okay? It took me a while to justify why I was so pissed off at Grissom. I knew I was, I just couldn't figure out why. I finally realized that I didn't trust him, and I was convinced he would disappoint you again. And I didn't want to see that happen."

She looked up at him, and he smiled down at her in reply. "I don't know why, Sara, but I have this need to keep you safe, so you won't ever be hurt again. You've had enough of that, and you deserve better. I figure I'm like the big brother, overprotective of his little sister whose always running off and getting herself into trouble. That's how I feel."

"Warrick…" she murmured as she laid her head back down on his shoulder. She lifted it back up quickly and shot him a look of defiance as she said, "Wait, I do not go and get myself into trouble!"

"Oh yes you do. Look, I don't know about your family situation, but I know you're always here for the holidays. And since they're coming up in a few months, I was thinking…" His voice trailed off. He hadn't meant to go this route, but now that he was here, it wasn't such a bad idea after all. She was looking at him with that analytical look she gave the evidence all the time.

"I was thinking that… well, we could be like family. For each other. Like brother and sister. Spend the holidays together instead of alone. We could host a big party for the team, and Pete too. Have tofu turkey and all the vegetarian trimmings. You can even bring your boyfriend."

Her eyes filled again with tears. "Oh…"

"No matter what happens, I consider you my family." His voice was wavering. _Damn. Keep it together, man._

She hugged him tight, her tears staining his T-shirt. She never did answer, but then again, words probably weren't required.

They stood there, together, two people, one originally brought to investigate the other, both now finding a comfort and a friendship that neither would have ever suspected. It was a little awkward and a little unorthodox, but it worked for them, and really, that's all that mattered.

Sara finally pulled away, wiping her eyes. "God, I'm such a dweeb."

"Yeah, well I'll let you get away with it this one time."

She smacked him lightly on his arm for that remark as she walked past him into his living room.

"So," she said with a heavy sigh, "can you get a hold of Pete so we can practice for next week, or what?"

Warrick smirked as he went for his phone. "Okay," he said.

"Oh, and I have a name for our band. Or group. Or whatever we are."

"Yeah? Really? What?"

"T.O.E."

Warrick choked on his laughter. "T.O.E. huh? You sure people won't think it's 'Toe'?"

"Not if we make it our logo as well. And c'mon – there are three of us. It fits."

"Okay, but we'll have to explain it to Pete."

"Yeah, probably twice. So you like it?"

"I do."

"Good, because I have some other ideas about what we sing. And I have sheet music for you in my car, which I of course, forgot. Be right back!" She scooted past him towards his door, full of her boundless energy from months before.

Warrick smiled as he watched her leave. _Yeah, she might not be perfect. But she's family._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two months had passed since Sara had returned to Vegas, and Grissom and Warrick had been suspended. It was that time again, and she walked into Grissom's office slowly. "You got a minute?" she asked.

"Sure. What is it?" He lowered the papers he was reading and the hints of a smile traced his lips. Last weekend's dinner and the subsequent activities that followed were still fresh in his mind as well as hers. Heat crept onto her cheeks as his eyes darkened. Oh yeah, he remembered.

"Forms, for Warrick and me for Thursdays. I need your John Hancock, please."

"Certainly," he drawled. After signing them quickly, he returned them to her, his fingertips 'accidentally' brushing against her arm.

Her body reacted instantly; she needed to see him again, soon, or they both would most likely explode and just attack one another right there in his office. Free time was a precious commodity for both of them, and they really hadn't spent much time together since their return. His unending patience with the situation, their unstable work schedule, and with her need to sing was impressive to her, and she'd shown him just _how_ impressed she was last Saturday afternoon before shift.

"I have another request," she murmured huskily, eyes averted.

"What is it?" His voice was low, deep and sensual. Yeah, christening his desk was in their immediate future if they didn't see each other soon.

"I'd like you to come tomorrow night. To the club."

"Oh?" He was surprised. They had both agreed that for now, it was in their best interests for Grissom to remain here while Sara performed. It worked better for both of them, and Sara made a point of showing her appreciation to him. A win-win situation if there ever was one.

"If you can. I'm inviting the rest of the team as well, but I know how things get. And really, I'd just like you there."

"I'll be there, then."

"And after my last set, I'll be heading home. Perhaps you could join me there for a little while before returning to work."

"I can't guarantee it," he said, eyes downcast, "but I will make every possible effort." His face lifted, and the desire arced between them. Sara's tummy did its now familiar little flop. Yup, tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gil sat at the scuffed wooden table and sipped his drink slowly. Nick and Greg were off to his left, but both were engrossed in scanning the crowd for women. At least, Gil assumed that was what they were doing. Catherine was to his right, her attention focused on the baby grand piano on stage. The man who played it would be returning soon, and Catherine's face held a look of longing.

"What are you waiting for," Grissom said to her as he lowered the glass.

Cath frowned and murmured, "I don't know. Him, I guess."

"It's feasible. We've proved that."

"You and Sara are different, Gil. She's different. Look how devoted he is to her. He isn't like that with me."

"Would you want him to be?" he asked, still not facing her, his attention focused on the red curtain onstage.

She coughed lightly. "Probably not. At least not like that."

"I'll tell you about a conversation she had with me a while back. She said that Warrick was as important to her as I was, and that I should be prepared to have him in our lives for as long as he wished it. She said he was her family."

Catherine frowned. "I see."

"I don't think you do. They are like you and me."

"You aren't like that."

"Aren't I?" Gil gestured towards the stage. "He looks out for her, he wants to protect her, and he loves her like the sibling he never had." This time he turned and faced her.

Her eyes were wide with surprise. "You feel that way? About me?"

"Always have."

She turned away then, looking down at the mottled patterns of the threadbare carpet in _The Black Velvet_. "I… well, wow."

Gil placed his hand on her shoulder, marveling at his ability to do so and at the positive response it brought from Catherine. Sara had taught him a lot in the past few months. People needed physical contact. "So, you okay? Feel better?"

"Maybe. I still don't know what to do about it."

"Don't send him a plant. Whatever you do, don't send him a plant."

They both laughed, shattering the seriousness of their conversation. It was good timing, as Warrick and the drummer, Pete, walked out onto the stage.

"Did you see the sign outside for them?" Catherine asked him as her eyes followed Warrick to the piano. Gil watched as Warrick searched the crowd, finally finding their table and smiling in their direction.

"What sign?"

"The one advertising their performance tonight. Did you see their logo?"

"No."

"Their name is 'T.O.E.' As in '_Trinity of Evidence'_."

"That's what it stands for?" Greg asked from across the table. "I wondered what it meant. That's cool."

"You didn't recognize the diagram, Greg?" Catherine said to him with a scowl, and Greg shrunk a little in his chair. Luckily for him, Sara was taking the stage and they all turned their attention to where it belonged - on her.

At the end of their final set, and the applause had died down, Sara still remained on stage. The off-white gown she wore was new, and Gil was physically aching to remove it from her within the next thirty minutes. Their performance tonight had gone well, despite a few technical glitches that most everyone else in the audience didn't notice. Why weren't they leaving?

Sara spoke into her microphone. "I'd like to sing one more song tonight, if you don't mind. This one is special to me and I'd like to dedicate it to the people who are most important to me, my friends who are here tonight. They are my family, and I wanted to let them know how much they mean to me."

Sara made a gesture and the house lights dimmed again. In fact, all the lights dimmed and only a dim spotlight shone on Sara and her gorgeous gown.

She turned her head in Warrick's direction, and he started a slow melody on the piano.

"_When I was young, I never needed anyone…"_

"_And making love was just for fun…"_

"_Those days are gone."_

"_Living alone, I think of all the friends I've known…"_

"_When I dial the telephone, nobody's home…"_

"_All by myself"_

"_Don't wanna be, all by myself, anymore…"_

She was amazing. The emotions she conveyed through the lyrics were aching, and it was the best that Grissom had ever heard from her. When she reached the final chorus, he had tiny prickles running up his spine from the intensity.

He wasn't alone in his reaction; the audience was visibly affected as well. Catherine had tears in her eyes. "Jesus," she had murmured.

When the song ended, the crowd rose as one, the applause, whistles, and various yelps of 'Yeah!' growing more deafening by the second. Gil stopped his own hands to observe the people around him. His body filled with warmth and pride - that was his Sara on stage, and she had brought the house down. The thought hit him that perhaps his Sara was in the wrong career after all, despite her expertise as a criminalist. It would be her decision, if and when the time came, but he would stand by her no matter what she chose. He smiled when her eyes met his from across the room. His life would never be the same as long as she was in it, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Catherine hollered in his ear above the din. "You know, someone's going to hear her one day and offer her a contract." She always did have a knack for reading his mind.

"I wouldn't be surprised," he yelled back.

"She'll take Warrick with her, and then where will the lab be?"

"It'll work out." The applause died down as Sara, Warrick and Pete took their last bow and left the stage. Grissom, Catherine, Nick and Greg all sat back down.

"Damn, that was something, huh?" Greg said.

"She is just really good," Nick said. "I'll bet someone picks her up and we'll be watching her at the casinos in no time. We might even hear her on the radio."

Apparently the whole team is now psychic, Grissom thought to himself. Still, it was obvious. Sara had talent that wouldn't go undiscovered much longer, especially not after tonight's performance.

"What about the rest of us? If Sara and Warrick can go off and sing and play, what about us? We should do something with our talents, too."

Grissom looked at Catherine and winked. "_How about jello wrestling?"_

_THAT'S IT! THE END!_

**

* * *

A/N:** Well that was fun, huh? I know some of you might be sad to see this end, but it was time. My muse is banging on my brain to write new and different things, and my conscience really wants me to finish _Equilibrium_. So that is the game plan for now. That you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! -- Sharon 

**Disclaimerage:**

"All By Myself" (at least the version I'm referring to in this fic)

Performed by: Celine Dion on her "Falling Into You" CD

Written By: Eric Carmen and Sergei Rachmaninoff  
Produced By: David Foster  
Published By: 1975 Eric Carmen Music, Inc. adm. by Songs of Polygram Int., Inc. (BMI)

Lyrics were taken off of Celine Dion's website. It is absolutely an awesome song and fitting for Sara to sing.


End file.
